When the world ends, what of it?

A poem for the apocalypse seems insufficient

but you know with children patting my nose and all…

I just don't have the time.

But that's fine cause no one knows it anyway.

What? Yeah see this isn't me, so just go with it

till we close our eyes and squeeze each other's hands, and wake up when the sky is orange.

Maybe then, under that new cover we'll make another promise

and we'll never have to face those liars again.

Sometime we'll just have to settle and maybe push

and we'll move the way we feel it flow

if there's any left after the flood.

Paradise isn't far when you've been…elsewhere.

Just picture it in that spaced-out head of yours and walk your feet there.

Maybe you'll even make it while it still matters.

Cross your fingers and make a wish

It's time to go,

time for this to end

the world with it.