Everything is real,
But everything is false.
The contents of the cut-up hourglass
Stick to the beat of my hand,
Running through sands,
Like the tick-tock of a well-worn clock,
Nothing ever lasts.
The rose in loom of a razor blade,
Cut deep into the name of that
Recently deceased, elderly man.
The rose in name of the razor blade
Cut deep into the palm of his hand,
Everything is beautiful.
Everything is real.
But nothing ever lasts.