The little nuances that mark where we end
the dirt of the grave the ink from our pens
we'll stand up whenever the day ever comes
too pick up our words too pick up the crumbs
Artist or not it's burned deep in flesh
the will to move on and thus, so attest
what was and what is beyond and thus raised
our dead eyes are perfect, drunken and glazed
Pick up your glasses raise up a toast
even though now we're nothing but useless old ghosts
the last of our kind poets and such
all for the love of poetry's
touch
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
The little nuances that mark where we end
the dirt of the grave the ink from our pens
we'll stand up whenever the day ever comes
too pick up our words too pick up the crumbs
Artist or not it's burned deep in flesh
the will to move on and thus, so attest
what was and what is beyond and thus raised
our dead eyes are perfect, drunken and glazed
Pick up your glasses raise up a toast
even though now we're nothing but useless old ghosts
the last of our kind poets and such
all for the love of poetry's
touch
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