Across the Dinner Table

Words are being extracted out like Whole milk made from mechanical utters I make them mumbled up and muttered From all across the dinner table I had a point once but it tumbled wayward Akin to possums lying on their backs I should have more carefully cover my tracks All circles presupposed they'll end where they begin Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world