drag the warp to the right
there’s three kinda

shit working the night
when the weasel of death

is creeping into the dawn
and the moon won’t go down

and the sun won’t rise 
into a day not worth it

not worth the trouble
and the patch of green

worries the heart 
while the glimmer of gold

gladdens the heart 
of the sad few who’ve

not noticed the coming blink
flooding the pastures of death

where nothing matters save 
what’s left that can’t be chewed

where a gulp is a sad gag
a swallow a muddled myth

garçon l’addition
I must be gone