Lackadaisical

Where does that feeling go
When the last of us are gone
The last of us who know

A storm is a torn sky
In which all that is cleansed
Is all that must die

A death is a raw wound
To both born and reborn
Deceived in their doom

It’s harder to pretend
It’s harder to pretend
It’s harder to pretend
There will be no end

But the end is nigh
In the torn sky
The end is nigh

What are they missing
Where did it go
They won’t know

Was it even here
Did it even exist
Outside imagination

Spin into a future
Spin into a future
Spin into a future
Rewritten to feel better

The moon spins fantasy
Only reflecting light
It does not possess

Deception never rests
In what aches to be real
Illusion a jest

How do we know
Where that feeling goes
When the last of us are gone

The end is nigh
The end is nigh
In the torn sky
The end is nigh

Turn the pages
Turn, turn, turn

We won’t feel them anymore
Consumed by the storm

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2 thoughts on “Lackadaisical

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