Time slipped,
Like the thoughts he forgot to remember.

Other lives might have been golden,
Other men might have had grace.

Other lives of love might not have gone to waste,
Other bodies might not have broken.

The grit and the grime asked his favor,
As they plied in his hands.
In their moments of pause,
They choked his tired eyes.

Never would he know
Anything but what he knew now.
Never would they teach
Anything but what he knew now.

These lives and lovers trembled, buried in the part he could still see.
These hates and have-nots sung to him, desperately, furiously.
These tastes of metal left him hot and lonely.

Time recovers itself, and in that instant,
Like the thoughts he forgot to remember,
He realized there was nothing more for him,
Than what was left in another life.