Running around in circles in my head
Got me so dizzy, so fast
I drank the wrong medicine
That’s gonna make this shit last
I wish I took the other stuff
To watch those lights take flight
Just like the hands on the clock
Each and every night

When all the illusions,
“I’m a loser, I’ve got mental diseases”
That I’m beating by depleting
All I’m eating each season
In the morning I’ll be puking up the pieces remembered
In the morning, I’ll be coasting on a coffee table
Alameda have I told ya how I need ya
To be there, in the morning
As I’m preparin’ a so bear flight

I’ve been thinking about those things
The mountain goat above my toilet would say
Today he’d say, “Everything will be alright”
How can anything or everything be alright?
When liquid energy is leakin’ from the nose I surrendered
To the cost-benefit of picking up the newspaper
In the morning, as I’m tick-tock, talkin’

Of plummeting people, plumbing planets
Pushing enigmatic gastric plastics
Seemingly fantastic, bombastic bombings
Of the wombats
I know, you know,
That your homes are too good,
To think all about the things that you should

We froze, we froze
Subrosa, subrosa

Crawling like an infant, Father Time drags himself into his marigold bed. His head incessantly throbbing, he reaches for his pocket watch and rotates the hands four hours forward. Just as he returns his watch to his pocket, Mother Nature trumpets from the hall. Seeping right thru the cracks of the bedroom door, she sings the song of ten-thousand song birds.

“Father Time, while you were gone drinking wine and lapping luxuries, I was out, comforting chatterpines and solacing youngerberries. Assuring them that Father Time, surely had all, but forgotten their lives. The seasons will be here, the seasons will change. The seasons will be here, just later this year! The rosewhales weeped, and the letterlotuses won’t sleep. Father Time your ignorance now is a spectacular crime. If you want all the best for my children and I, then give up your humans, please put them to rest.

Fingering his palm, Father Time counts all the lines. Seven-billion it seems, his eyes decide. Brooding his brow, each wrinkle runs deep, Father Time speaks with closed cheeks.

“Let it be heard, that lessons are learned by all who think, and I am why. All the unknowns are known by me, only time can tell a secret decree. If it is not clear, don’t worry my dear. Things as they seem, unravel at the seams.”