I figure they'd of been in touch by now.
No circled crops, no mutilated cow,
no colored lights at night, nor eerie buzz.
The lines I chalked out back, straight as a rail,
to help them land their ships, done blown away.
And if them E.T.'s got something to say,
my dish ain't picked it up. The grade is "fail."
I thought they'd come. I scrimped and saved and planned
for when they'd liberate me from this dirt,
where everything is hate, and fear, and hurt,
and nothing good can be allowed to stand.
But now I know I'm stuck here, just like you.
I don't know what in hell I'm gonna do.
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