I'm sitting in the cockpit
Of this compensated spacecraft
To some delusional black hole
Of outgrown reveries
At least I'll crumble in myself
Before they order me to smile
And I'm staring out the oculus
Somewhere in the green
Where inner marble
Too perfected
Melded with its cinders
Not as if I'm thinking well
They're crossing out my blanks
But this guard will have to do
So how do you remember
The inconsistency regarding
An archetypal province's
Impulsive hypocrisy
And that broken soldier over there?
They must pay you well
Don't you ever wonder why
That formality of orchestras
Ever wants to speak
When their discontented spelling
And spindled deviations
Of grammar carnallite
Always seem to seal the lids
Of diction universal
Their cluttered autographs
Garnet seething paper stamped
With carbon solitaires
They always seem to win
Maybe they can teach me
How to read the colour
Of this indecisive blue
As I'm disagreeing
With this subcontracted lute
That almost rhymes
With something I can't play
I'm illiterate I suppose
And so I'm almost wishing
That he hadn't given up…
Isn't this your job?
No, never mind
That gun is meant for me
I guess you'll never know then…
Will feeling pain
Make me complete?