When I’m false, I’m a cruel and bitter trickery. When I’m blind, I’m youthful and perhaps naive. But everybody needs a bit of me in their lives. Something to supplement dreams, or to be a beacon in a sea of despair.

In the heart of bustling life, a geometric stage for public strife. Cobblestones echo with footsteps' beat, where city souls and village meet.

I’m always right, you know it’s true, as close as one comes to being a deity. No arguments lost, no words misspoken, just take my word, and all will be okay.

Boss makes a dollar, I make a this. That's why I poop, on company time!

I glide on winter’s silver skin, yet also haunt the ocean floor. One self is steel that sings on ice, the other spreads its wings to soar.