When the moon says ‘goodnight’ you will see my hands grasping yours on a sun lit bed. When the earth’s trials count us among the lucky I will hold you in that bitter winter. When our species wide senescence rolls back like a undertow on our fate’s shore, I’ll stand with you on that gloomy beach gazing upon the nuclear winter.
Let’s play cards on the devils doorstep, and drink to our downfall.
Come with me and make your own rules. Call the shots with the moon as your syn-chronic guide, forget the deities that led us astray and contract the worries of the world for another day. All in all we’re all caught in a gracious current that may carry us where we will. Why call shots when we wake worried and wily? Why counter callous actions through wild eyes and crippled lungs? Why worry at all for the exhilaration of a wiry world, when the wires and dire straights could cremate us all in seconds, why crack wise with a consumer disguise?
Butterflies flap there wings to a cosmic time scale and were underwater. Yet drowning we remain manifesting self-fury.
Come with me and see new rules revised. Where do you turn when the world weighs wayward on the horizon? Where else but turn up to cloud-ridden heads and heavy bar top hearts? Watch me hide with the most cautious crooks and cling to life extremophile style.
Where can we turn as the trials do pile, where do miles become empty styles human milestones left no living rivals?
Simply we boast.
I toast simply to the mire that stands before us and the hell we must bust through, but I’ve played cards with a demon or two, they’ll be very happy to meet you.
Well play your words your rules.