My corpse worn to nothing,
Could I prove that I am something?
The world might come to an end,
Unless you've got a hand to lend.
Every night I need to comprise,
It's proven worthy to be concise.

In the morning,
Send a warning,
I'll be there soon.

Alien ink thinks to itself,
While it sits upon the shelf,
In the corner of my vision,
It's a collision, a kaleidoscope,
microscopic, atomic atom particles,
I don't have any obstacles,
Other than my fears and self-destruction.

In the morning,
When it starts warming,
My corpse starts forming, reforming,
Send me a text,
I'll catch up to you next.