The turnstyle clicks I enter
From years in the factory
have i arrived there's no answer
Jovial sits at the desk observing
He holds up a pen that he designed himself
The one I use to write everyday
I ask how long is that Ink going to last
He reached into the past there
some lost chapter far away
yet still waiting for me
In a future beyond
he held up the pen
The ink was full
The pen as incredible
I would write my future with this
Short hairs on the arm
each one a factory
producing more and more pens
Writing into the world
Words like these ones here
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