_Now, at this moment, we stare/
Into the faces of our tired years/
Every memory bubbles up from/
The tar and mud of our age/
We sometimes smile, or frown/
We always forget: it won't re-happen_
_Bring me your happy, pile them here/
Bring me your sad, pile them there/
Every letter bleeds like a wound, a lie/
But "it doesn't apply(let it die)."/
To consummate my mind, I need divisions/
Every friend needs a room to sleep in_
_Take me to your severed minds/
Let me catch them, see them/
Let all ego (pounded in like dirt)/
Be swept out of your skull's kitchen door/
Sense can be made, manufactured/
Hail "the great god of my own creation"_
(noise/skid)
(crash)
(chuckle)
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