I keep talking to myself
muttering till I fall asleep
unintelligible to the wealth
of secrets in words I’m forced to keep
It’s sounding like an end
do it with no ounce of regret
you can close your eyes and depend
on this memory to get you wet
Emote in praise for the end of the world
and we commercialise our dead
with a new slogan: ‘Un-fuck the world’
haven’t you heard?
I wish you could understand
this terrible beauty of a game
it’s something unrequited and grand
would it ever grow tame
an invitation from the lacking to the drunk
a preacher raves in his asylum room
Ra’s Atet in hiding, today he lacks spunk
a pagan woodworker’s body rotting in it’s tomb
Little Borrowers 