|
The coolest enemy |
|
That I have ever seen |
|
Is humming of impending war |
|
He slouches on the couch |
|
And tramples of the vow |
|
Not to come here anymore |
|
Some odd persistent nerve |
|
That he has got preserved |
|
When I am all dry ice to touch |
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An unaffected smile |
|
To add up to his pile |
|
Of insolence immaculate |
|
Time's deserted us |
|
So have our days |
|
The author has written us |
|
Out of his play |
|
And without a sound |
|
I'll gently vaporize |
|
He's bringing drinks and talk |
|
And chicken wings on fork |
|
That dances in on his master plan |
|
And everything gets turned |
|
Like nothing's ever learned |
|
The gates of hell unlock themselves |
|
Now what else could it be |
|
When you face your enemy |
|
Still too soft-shelled to withstand |
|
This growing pressure balloon |
|
Is meant to crack up soon |
|
For silence to be infinite |
|
Time's deserted us |
|
So have our days |
|
The author has written us |
|
Out of his play |
|
And without a sound |
|
I'll slowly glide away |
|
I am not saying where I'm headed |
|
Or where I will end |
|
Surely won't regret it |
|
I am not precious but well spent |
|
And without a sound |
|
I'll quickly vaporize |
|
Closed ends |
|
Past tense |
|
Dead friends |
|
No offense |
|
(x2) |
