Symbolic Destruction
The axis is wrong; the monotony spins past
in a whirlwind – cars in traffic, make your parents proud –
it’s whatever gets you to work on time. The axis is wrong –
we’re never drinking again, and everything is okay –
the daily lies make the earth rotate. It’s a terrible thing
to waste but we’re confronted by the sun every morning,
and we pretend to be surprised – we’ve been awake for weeks
but I can’t save us from the rising of the light. It’s a bad
habit, and if you never sleep you can never have a nightmare.
Do you fear the sun? We could move up north and hide
from the revealing light, but we’ll still be east of the sea. You
better call your friends and family, tell them we’re still
alive and dancing in the porcelain.
The axis is wrong – the nicotine doesn’t cause weekly panic
and we’re fine again, the whirlwind doesn’t move
the smoke and autocorrect is off. I’m not repeating myself
quite deliberately, artistry becomes pretentiousness
and everything is okay. We’re not kids anymore, and
I thought I’d grow out of this mess, but the trasure is always
waiting for me – and I’m still east of the sea. My ears hear out
of time and out of sync, and my brain has got a social fever –
don’t treat me like a sick friend or I’ll be going down the market
again. There should be rhyme or reason to this verse,
there’ll be an ending in a few lines without either. The blinding
light and the smell of bleach, it’s the only way – this is the
end of time. The night ends in purple tones.
in a whirlwind – cars in traffic, make your parents proud –
it’s whatever gets you to work on time. The axis is wrong –
we’re never drinking again, and everything is okay –
the daily lies make the earth rotate. It’s a terrible thing
to waste but we’re confronted by the sun every morning,
and we pretend to be surprised – we’ve been awake for weeks
but I can’t save us from the rising of the light. It’s a bad
habit, and if you never sleep you can never have a nightmare.
Do you fear the sun? We could move up north and hide
from the revealing light, but we’ll still be east of the sea. You
better call your friends and family, tell them we’re still
alive and dancing in the porcelain.
The axis is wrong – the nicotine doesn’t cause weekly panic
and we’re fine again, the whirlwind doesn’t move
the smoke and autocorrect is off. I’m not repeating myself
quite deliberately, artistry becomes pretentiousness
and everything is okay. We’re not kids anymore, and
I thought I’d grow out of this mess, but the trasure is always
waiting for me – and I’m still east of the sea. My ears hear out
of time and out of sync, and my brain has got a social fever –
don’t treat me like a sick friend or I’ll be going down the market
again. There should be rhyme or reason to this verse,
there’ll be an ending in a few lines without either. The blinding
light and the smell of bleach, it’s the only way – this is the
end of time. The night ends in purple tones.