please stop calling stop the letters and the flowers and the sympathy cards
we're living in the moment for a few hundred years and every now and then a turncoat waltzs in and disapers then the coffin and the eulogy and we all breathe bettter you than me the traps reset and we begin to boil our minds to pass the time

im waiting for the idle to reach itss true creshendo
im slipping in and out of conscience
too much to do before the future catches up with you
developing a little cold