|
Behind shaky worship heaves a bitter moon |
|
Motherwit and street smarts bloom |
|
Things fall apart the center cannot hold |
|
Women on rockets and the men all follow |
|
There might not a file but they're keeping tabs on you oil on water and a turd in the |
|
Louvre Turncoats smile and then they grieve |
|
They dig your grave shallow so you can breathe |
|
Into Thin |
|
Air The yellow sun will someday smolder red |
|
Cords and cables, steel and concrete lie useless and dead |
|
No worms and blood, bones and hair |
|
A pasteless shell powders into thin air |
|
Into Thin |
|
Air |
