Rosemonde is dead She breathed her last - Sadly Much like she breathed her entire life But if there was one thing that made her happy Was the thought of death Are you happy now, Rosemonde?
of the morning alarms of the news of the traffic jams of the polluted air of the emails and phone calls of the to-do lists of the lack of time of the people of the daily routine of the tiredness
The engine groans and ages as it waits The clutch and foot engage in an endless embrace We are on our way but so far behind We know where we want to be But we are stuck in a jam