There is sitting in a subway station,

A man without no legs,

Says time is coming to an end,

And nothing is left to beg.

There is a woman who gropes at darkness,

Because she has gone blind,

Yet she does not remain heartless,

The chicken crosses before the egg,

Gone in a way are morels, gone are the old ways of life,

But since when did the future care about what was past and strife?


and yet all will carry on,

how jazz and love, alcohol, cigarettes and fire,

winks, and pills, and snowboarding,weapons wisdom, and wit

windows, soundboards, and violins,

arise from dirt and spit.

Into where this fucked up train rides us, I don’t know where

But i know that there is denied us the ability to say no,

that there is strength in endurence

That there is grace in keeping faith,

that wherever the world lands us, that it wil lead us to some welcomed fate,

Who knows what will or may not be

when the pall of eventide rises

when the seas boil over, and the sun no longer arises,

when the earth implodes and all the fish are dead

and all the dogs, cats, and wombats are gone

Who knows what endless silence will overtake

Because all we are is fire, and a song.






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