once again we falter and return to our apocalypse
with our Bauhaus bread and lipid pools of dread
and we swallow the ink of the night sky, howling
discreetly with our mute trumpets in the flower bed.
but if you love me... how can it be too late ?
our sundial is the moon
but how can we ever forget there.
on time ?
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
once again we falter and return to our apocalypse
with our Bauhaus bread and lipid pools of dread
and we swallow the ink of the night sky, howling
discreetly with our mute trumpets in the flower bed.
but if you love me... how can it be too late ?
our sundial is the moon
but how can we ever forget there.
on time ?
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