Maybe if you push on across the page
The pen that you're pushing will start to work.

And you push it like narcotics.
But a pusher wouldn't call his product that.
Pushed right beneath our noses and more than the first time is free.
(But every time takes its tax)

With questions that make trust and need fight it out.
And we won't know if the cat's in the bag until we let it out.

Then we'd know your game.
And then we'd know our faults.

This trust isn't laced like we think it is.
Maybe this fright isn't something we bought but something we brought.
Maybe it's a little bit of both.

Your product sustains your standard of living.
But your living means our end is beginning.

So click your keys and push your pen.

Then we'd know your game.
And we'd no our faults.

But I don't need to wear my heart on my sleeve.
I'm well aware of the marks beneath my sleeve.
And I know who the pushed is.
I'm the pusher