Night shift at the end of the world
is sweeping crumbs from the floor.
Shells of people are still waiting
for some lucky six, or lucky seven.
I walked barefoot on silver needles
poisoned by this Goddam wasteland
to get away from the sterile dirt
and this freakish human constellation.
So delightful was that night
with half-drunk waiters and lion tamers.
Golden additives to blood,
dreams and wishes, side-effects.
We’ve let the blood rust away.
We’ve let the flies buzz around.
The lips are sealed shut.
Nothing we ever say
can fix this clock.
As the red hearse awaits
unglue the last of me from you
and watch this conductor wave.
Watch his white gloves, wrinkled and stained
by charcoal, whiskey and clay.
We were mapping the dreamland
but ended up in hay.
The drones are surrounding us
the searchlights are on.
Unsubscribe from my life,
unlike all my faults,
Unfollow me when I chase the fog.
It has nothing to do with you.
It had everything to do with this glogg.
Our obsolete time
has nothing to do with us.
We were compensating for someone else.
Just us and two flies
in separate jars.
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