You
might die once a million times
You,
might not die at all
You,
could be one of the lucky guys with diamond eyes,
harder than steel, as old as I feel, but not as young
as you are.

So what will you do as the years flit by you with no
end of the end, what will you do as you watch and
send through the portals of doom those
who once shared a room with you?

If I knew now what I didn't know then,
that living's forever if you don't know how
to die,
I'd cry.

It's no use to this guy with the diamond eyes who wakes in the morning and knows all the lies and the truth of perpetual youth.
So it goes,
for some time goes fast for others it slows
some die once a million times and some don't die at all.

I carry what I own in a rucksack lightly on my back,
the lowdown is the showdown came, the sheriff even knew my name an APB was out on me I had to flee, get out of town, but I know the feds will hunt me down.

I don't have much, no time as such or anything of value that I value more than life,
I took a life and now they want mine and
no time is good time when you're strung out on the front line, when the line is attached to the 'final solution', twenty five thousand volts of electrocution.

So I run and I hide where the night's on my side and the days are the things that I fear and which I own, where the faults are at home with me and home is wherever I am with an eye out for the marshalls man.

I carry it anyway in a rucksack for another day and the CIA are closing in on me,
time to pack my bag and flee
again.

I heard they found
a planet
just like ours.

Shame.

Our glasses clinked as we caught our breaths
and drank in each
other's eyes.

It needs to just leave me alone.
Let me sleep.
Leave me with thoughts of love.
Not thoughts of panic.

Welcome to my Panic Room.
Where instead of sleep,
Thoughts of terror come into play.
And I can feel the swelling of my throat;
As if I were allergic to the tragedy.
My heart beats as if it were a horse race.

Welcome to my Panic Room.
Where a bed lay in the center.
One I wish to sleep upon and dream of fearing nothing.
Yet I sit in the corner;
All curled up to protect myself from the monster that's coming.
Only to realize, every time,
The monster is inside me.

It all becomes retro
a bit like the sixties in a Parisian fashion show and
it's
all for one and I for one would like to go
retro.

Bakelite was alright and
crystal sets for the news,
but now it's crystal meths for the mad nights
and I have the blues. but
can't sing.
But
bring me a railroad and I'll lay down a track,
give me some retro
I want to go back.

I could wind back the clock for some 80's glam rock and
I could wind back in time  to the Maginot line or
I could wind it some more to the hundred years war, to the ships and the pilgrims who went to find fame in that country of which I can never remember the name, to Grimm and his tales, to Glendower of Wales and if retro's the way to go then that's where I want to be **** the modernity of the
21st century, all systems go
back to retro.

She sits playing Mozart
I sympathise with the symphony
it seems like Mozart had it in for me
when he sat writing this.

White lies are
the grey elephants
that run through
rooms.