Consider this your fair warning.
|
There's no turning back now.
|
You're leaving your
|
Blanket of cleansed gospel
|
For the smut of vicious truth.
|
You won't need your own wool coat
|
Because out there the sun beats through.
|
|
So interlock your fingers with mine
|
And squeeze tight.
|
Stay close behind.
|
We haven't much time
|
So I'll cut to the quick.
|
We'll burn the midnight oil.
|
|
The sun will peek into our windows
|
And be surprised to find empty beds,
|
Walls naked, our closets stripped
|
Of all its threads.
|
We will awake in a new world.
|
Our own island.
|
This floating mass.
|
A jagged slab.
|
Where bulbs burn for us until the end.
|
|
When dawn arrives
|
We'll be ten drinks deep.
|
If we can fight off turning horizontal,
|
We'll explore our new home
|
And find similarities at every turn.
|
|
No matter how far we go
|
It's all a fragment of a whole.
|
Even it all locks are keyed
|
Or calloused become our feet.
|
|
No matter how far we go
|
There's no escaping the glow.
|
We'll take our seats at the throne.
|
Wonderland is now our home.
|
|
-----------------
|
I've Got A Witch Mad At Me And You Could Get Into Trouble
|
Forgive Durden |