For far too long we sat at the podium
counting the days since the last rain.
Like arrogant slaves high on “hopium”
we’re waiting for blind alleys to see again.
Will our deaf ears know when crescendo comes?
Will our stringless guitar duo be tired for encores?
We went too far and forgot the bread crumbs,
can’t blame the Devil for us getting lost.
The last round goes to moonburned werewolves,
silky ropes, tourniquets, nooses and lucky fools.
These masquerades have always been bad substitutes,
we fought all the wrong wars in our tight, torn boots.
So rest your head where the Sun fell asleep,
forget about the moat that’s keeping us in.
Cover your body with the sheepskin,
the smartest thing to do is to be stupid like me.
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