Soon joints on jackets are see-through,
Shoes pleather, and weather your joints doom.
Bloom is teeth fabrique, cocoon sheathed too soon.
At best: bleak. At least wreck a few feasts?
Mood black from a crap attitude hack.
Loose tracks and the lack of a tune whack.
Tombs stacked to the back of a room, packed.
Moon-zoomed blanks in to black introduce Taps.

I was taught to tap dance atop death's hands,
But my fingers are pressed beneath a pair of pants.
And it's within my genes to make this old dirge last,
And time just has a way of killing hopes last laugh.
So if I find my head attached to some piece of machinery
With folks checking my vitals like some folks tend do to me...

Bathing is time and time I could have wasted
Getting clever on a million mines.
Waiving my mind, sometimes I could have tasted,
But I never wanted senses to rise.
Were you there when I fell on hard wood
Or stared at leaves in God's gutters and cried?

Skinless cadavers pick bones with skeletons for forever,
And ghosts will never get in,
Cause bones can't hear past the skin of their teeth.
And if you point that at me I will lash out with stones,
Maybe shove a stick in the spokes you know.
This tape got stretched. It won’t reach the end.
Oh no.

Bathing is time and time I could have wasted
Getting clever on a million mines.
Waiving my mind, sometimes I could have tasted,
But I never wanted senses to rise.
Were you there when I fell on hard wood
Or stared at leaves in God's gutters and cried?

So if I'm feeling lazy when Jesus comes back to bust me,
I'll hit the boss key.
Or could be bending, maybe, with schemes built to bless me,
I'll hit the boss key.
I’ll know my memory’s fading when I forget the ending.
Save me.