| In the time it takes a handkerchief to fall to the ground
|
| One of our lives will be over
|
| Brocade waistcoat catches glints of morning light
|
| Silk damask swathed in bottle green memories
|
| We’ve traveled from station to station
|
| We now approach our final destination
|
| The only way to awake you was to slap your face
|
| So stand up straight and let me take on final taste of you
|
| Before we walk the agreed number of paces
|
| And turn to face our fate
|
| The coup de grace delivered so delicately
|
| You always had such exquisite taste
|
| Morning sky stretched tight as a drum
|
| Tension released in an instant
|
| Brocade waistcoat flecked with blood in the golden light
|
| You were dead before you even hit the ground
|
| We’ve traveled from station to station
|
| We now approach our final destination
|
| The only way to awake you was to slap your face
|
| So stand up straight and let me take on final taste of you
|
| And ice crystals always have six points
|
| Though every one’s unique
|
| They melt on the tongue and no one’s ever counted them all
|
| But you’ve tried
|
| You
|
| You
|
| So cool and calculated
|
| A real cold fish
|
| So measure this
|
| So measure this |