There is a light at the end of every tunnel i hear them say,
Bright, soft and coma-white when everything is going oh so well.
Alas, when you're in your best black an unseen hand comes and dares -
dares to replace the power source with one expired duracell.

Pity, I've been scratching lines, lines on myself for weeks,
Now exhausted, in this state i think its very nearly complete.
There is nothing but a vacant hole inside the chest where -
This little clock-work machine they call a heart used to be.

There is a silence high up in the sky i also hear them say,
More precious than even the opera of whales underneath the waves.
Aren't you the lucky one when you're welcome there as -
Those who manage are allowed only a glimpse: no one ever stays...

wilwad, back sooooon,
everyone ->