Not a scientist, not a musician
A pack rat, needing his hoard
His magnets alongside his trombone
His trombone alongside a binder
The salty sweet taste of effort
One he's hardly ever known
A note of music for his troubles
Blown away on winds he doesn't know
A magnet, polar ends, polar strengths
So we cautiously stand by each other
Attracting, repulsing, pushing, pulling
A trombone and flute breaching our defense
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