(c) Gallery Circus 2012
Ten seconds in an earthquake shake,
what will you have me tell in ten.
First taste my lips until the count hits six,
if its a numbers game your craving.
Hang on, it can feel like 10 more years, if you're numb.
Lets pick apart our little nerve endings,
to cut our quivering limbs, so killing.
Wool-gather with me one more time,
come think on all the things we'll never do.
Like rent a postcard deckchair picnic scene,
feigned from a 30s stock film still.
Hang on, the ticker is running late, on my clock face.
I'm rehearsed with scripted lines that play,
on wistful words you'd love to love me say.
Suprise, you're the honoured guest at the world's end party.
But grab your coat, we're checking out early, sweetheart I'm sorry.
It's cold when the fog lies heavy,
but it burns out so quickly, you'll miss the grey city,
the dull halogen beams warming your heart strings.
Forget that the concrete is breaking,
when it's happening so quickly, we'll leave a grey city,
churning like butter, tearing in silver.
Consecutive figures gut me,
hell, they add up so quickly, i'll miss the grey city,
I've spent all my digits I'm hopeless I admit.
Bite on my tongue, I'll close your eyes.
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