FINE CLOTH RUB ME OFF

You’re not getting any younger

So stop hesitating at a slow rate

Nothing moves slower than an unwanted gut feeling

and its decision

But you know it feels like a precise incision

That had be done

Cause it was planned in for a while

 

The chandelier’s lamps went out one by one

Yet other things spin into infinity

And can’t be undone

 

See the rags those dusty rags

They were once pristine and clean

The room became damp

The crystals lost their sheen

 

Reel after reel playing in my head

The incidents

The sun burn

The worshipping of the ancient dead

 

You are measured by what you achieve

after you’ve crawled

You are judged by the way you fall

 

We all have to fall and stand up again my dear

We are all an exponent of everything

My dear