The song we wish and long to hear, but never know the words
Is always on the cusp, adhere, for what comes next are blurs.
They’re spinning faster than you can see, you’ll never hear the sounds.
Until all things strike you at once, and you’re turned into grounds.
Everything you thought you knew is everything you were.
And all the thing you used to know but come out as a slur.
For now you see your final glimpse and gasp that fleeting breathe.
Who knew that all these simple sordid things would simply be your death.