I pass him every morning.
He is blemishing street corners;
A vagabond among the pigeons
Like a rogue.
I pass him every morning,
Though I feel I shouldn't have to
He is coming for me soon;
And he's a rogue.

-

His propositions make me nervous.
His expectations are too high.
He's dishonest.
He's impatient.
He's a rogue.

-

Licking Pennies.
Sticking Pennies.
Licking Pennies.
Sticking Pennies.
Like copper stamps,
Into rubber cash registers.

-

He's blowing smoke into mouths
Of little girls.
I ask him why
And he tells me quite plainly,
Though his metal eyes seem dead:
Lest they outlive him.
That's what he said.

-

He whispered gruff orders with a hand on my knee
And said he'd get rid of me if I didn't agree
To how long he'd keep me;
He would not guarentee.

-

And then when the world crumbles
Under all his debris;
He'll still exist everywhere
To a certain degree.
He has such a way of twisting my plea.
So his ugly steel eyes glint with sharp glee;
Another servant to his collection-
Another two. Another three.

He's a rogue.
A filthy rogue.

He is industry.