So I says, Well, here be the fitting turn to all these unknowings and non-thinkings.
The way the wind did fill. The flutter of early tears.
Single seconds beating a phrase out, and the wires and the steel all flash with spite.
Frail ignorance I hears talking in the excuses. In the whys, whens all we really be after’en is just the who.
Sometimes the numbers stay high. And when thems is the rolls on the street side of wondering, why, it is as if the Gods needed to ask you for a lift.Vroom.
