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| The End Of The World |
8/24/2002
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Fogginess blankets little white lies that never felt so right at night.
Emptiness follows, spies versus spies, on mountains of peace and rivers of fright.
I sniffle, I think.
A bottle or two.
A night and a day.
I play more and then I drink.
Fogginess clouds my vision, my vision, I close my eyes.
Fighting the embers that never ash.
The plane that flies and forgets to crash.
The members that simmer, they never know where they are from.
I skip to the end of the world and pretend to know why I have come.
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