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Passed out anew |
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You woke up in a waiting room |
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Full of blurry magazines |
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You tried to focus and read |
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But you were excited to meet your maker |
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The room slowly emptied of blurry blank faces |
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Until you at last heard them call out your name |
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But when they showed you in you didn't meet your maker |
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Just a group like you |
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Holding short straws |
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And then the office fell into the hold of a galley boat |
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Where a black sandman flicked on a brick while you rowed |
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His "click click" ticked on with no talk to the beak of a feeding chicken |
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Who was pecking out a beat with his beak on the bottom of his cage at a pace you were sticking to |
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Until through storms of feathers |
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You arrived at a coast on the edge of night |
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Where with his one remaining flame the black man took your oars |
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And set them on fire |
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And left you there with your makeshift torches |
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Saying "wait just a little more |
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And soon you will see your maker |
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In the flickering lights" |
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But after some time |
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Your torches died |
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And it was pitch, coal, tar black |
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So when the |
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So when the white mask, white mask, white mask came at last |
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It was out of sight |
