Time could be the wing
that breezelessly carries you
over this ridiculous scene,
the bric-a-brac: opulent,
chintzy, figurines
that make me crazy when they sing.
Of which I will be king!
And how bad would that be just to pour another drink?
Itâs just one thing to slow the time.
You give the notebook a squeeze, try to spill a little ink?
Itâs just one thing to slow the time.
I am the beast.
The beast I handle him
when starting up has to cease.
You blink. The moonâs in the sky again.
Still no good reason to leave.
Itâs like youâve stumbled on a sphinx
whoâs got no riddles to speak.
Except how bad would that be just to pour another drink?
Itâs just one thing to slow the time.
You give the notebook a squeeze, try to spill a little ink.
Itâs just one thing to slow the time?
Itâd be a lie to give this bell an atavistic sound.
Between my roots and wheels I donât know which should hit the ground
But in either case I am unholy and I am bound
Why do I feel weightless? Tell me please why do I feel no weight?
Like only spider webs are tethering me to this place.
The answer is to ask a better question than âHow bad would be the cage?â
Donât be scared of this scene; you might never find your home.
Itâs just one way to spend your life.
But tell the jackals to kindly leave and you can take of your own.
Itâs just one way to spend your life.
Itâs just one way to spend your life.