Too much tension
floating about
cranium astounded
now outstretched

goops of grey matter
turn to bubbles
wrap up whats left
of our minds

We are whats left of the tribe
two migrants
relying on bowed branches
to guide us

but there's no dimming
said fire inside us
might have to muster up
whats left of my strength

because its bout to be just me
I can sense the heartbeat depleting...

whyy couldnt you just ******* wing it
to keep it moving?