I feel like a hundred Suns have withered up
and glazed a death
inside of me.
I am stagnant,
I am pale,
I am non-responsive.
I will disappoint you.
I don't pay attention to clocks
because time brings me down.
      I will just ferment in my
        frosty garage
          on my all-too-old
       drumkit.
   Banging away.
Exerting
My fears,
anger,
Displeasement
w/everything
through my wild arms.
A stampede is off in the distance
And it's only a matter of time before I catch up with it.