she casts her stare out the window to find the Chicago sunrise
like a ritual. you ritually catch the sun before it ascends, so all
the orange, yellow, and red can remind you of the place you left.
and all the people you left, regressed and became "all those
people" you knew who would announce your name (when you
came in the room). and all the people you asked all responded
the same, "what do you have left to lose that you haven't already
annulled?" and you could leave this place, but all your methods
of goodbye will be over in a minute; all that matters is time.
but you want it moral.
is this just a question,
of what you wanted moral?
is this just a question
of which you wanted more of?
is it just a question of whether you depart or arrive,
of what have you got left to learn, of what have you got to lack?
"and do they know what I’ve done wrong? i can't quite get
passed that yet."
what are you running for?
is this a question of what you wanted moral,
and is this just a question?
are the hours sinking in, can you carry on?
should time just stop, would you laugh it off?
come the second hand,
will this feel wrong when it's over?
whispering,
"nothing matters, love.
time is all, all that we're a matter of."
"just water through our hands,
sands shifting a glass."
sands shifting through our hands or water filling up a glass.
that is all we're a matter of.
whispering,
"nothing matters, love. time is all we're a matter of."
ensign,
you're on your way.
it's time,
you're on your way.
