Just needed to sing my subconscious feelings through subjectively poetic word barf.

Lyrics:

Front seat, Third Wheel,
Trust fall to the death.
Undo this deal, did I
Even sign anything?

Price drop, discount.
You don’t even know,
If that’s the one you want.

Self-Checkout is on the scene,
To log your spending stream.

Your move, Petty Paws,
Unable to service.
What can we hope to do,
On attitude with purpose?

Some kind of overthrown inclusion,
Was where we trampled,
Through nonchalant delusion.

Your move, Petty Paws,
Distracted by earrings.
Front seat, Third Wheel.

Lucky Apathy is,
What I would call it.
And your chances,
For travel are high.

Rates are lower than,
Value of creativity,
Like your name in,
An archival business.

Driver, pull out ID.
You don’t wanna get,
Locked up with me.

Such an audience,
Posted in squad.
Did I even sign anything?

Six-Bit Calendars are,
What I would call it.
Just forget that,
They never comply.

Market quotas one,
Step from impossible,
Still installed as our,
Reason to try to,

Drive, Third Wheel.
What’s the matter,
With all your legs?

Trust fall? No way,
I don’t wanna wish,
On memes again.

Your move, Petty Paws,
I don’t see a difference,
In the world.

Okay, may I loan,
One compromise?
Yes, sir, I’m ashamed,
I’m even asking.

Whose mouth do you,
Feed with charity?
‘Cause I would love,
To manage how it’s done.

Some kind of malleable retention,
Is how we came to this,
Awkward tension.

Final round, Uptake,
You’re so very very,
Good Third Wheel.

Free drinks or bust.
Friendly fire is a,
Backdrop meal.

Your turn, Petty Paws,
Stuck in a loophole.
Have you left yet?

Three voices,
Dislodged and remain.
Three’s company,
To our demands.

Free voices,
Dislodged and remain.
Free solitude,
In our own time…