Jostle Lyrics

To save itself from passing rays
To gauge a sense of perfect phase
To stretch a point
The depths of which were lost
The strands
The frame
The reverence
The scans
The waiting precedence
The speech
The form
The roads I may have lost
Marked out in high vis
To stay blended in
Strain on your iris
And two thirds of skin
Kindly distracts
From the points that were made
It's vital these stacks of the forms be mislaid
"My mistake"

Marked out in high vis
To stay blended in