| Must clean up the way until there is no one left alive
|
| And then there is always someone begging for the light. |
| Endtime!
|
| Time, torn and thrown into pre-existential oceans, pre-ritual
|
| Must clean up the way till there’s no trace left of me. |
| Endtime!
|
| Did I see me last night? |
| Then denied it today?
|
| Same solitude rite, done again?
|
| It pours down upon me
|
| Disgorging down from above
|
| And now it’s too late
|
| Now, how are you tonight?
|
| Is there any way I could be of help tonight?
|
| I write a vomit serenade of living yesterdays
|
| I’ll show you tonight that no one really wants to listen to a song that really
|
| hurts
|
| Who’d ever want a love like a rainbow in the rain, iridescent but vain
|
| I thought you would lie
|
| Next to me in this bed of swallowed time
|
| And deceiving the autumn and all the remaining time
|
| And deceiving the horror, the pest and the relative slime
|
| And the cancers and darkness behind the doors at night
|
| Today all these things are unaware
|
| Must clean up the way until there’s not a soul left by my side
|
| But there’s always a little sign of someone meant to take good care of your
|
| heart |