It’s never the end all
The catch your breath
And look back a second time.
It’s never anarchy,
Two bits vying for love.
It’s a death trap,
And Boris is dead.
We aren’t the restless,
We’re the owners:
Ruthless and cheap.
Talking back and rigging it,
Cheap thrills and lose tongues
And leaving worthless, spent.
Cause I’m not alive
– Horribly penniless –
Missing all the good times.
I walk with arms open
For your outstretched revolution
To move my soul.
To catch me
To look back and
For all my breath, moments
Stretched into life and death.