Dec 31, 2017
No Man
I can see you fighting, tight as bow strings So I believe. I don’t want you to win You’re not enough like me: Where my warfare Is guerrilla, yours is pitched infantry Where I lost, you might create victory And carnage, putting poison in the very air We will need for the survivor’s breathing Be hurt by the aftermath, of all things. That’s what makes your joints freeze up, doesn’t it? You don’t want to rock the boat, sink the ship It took long enough to make, all flotsam And you don’t feel able to start again But your man-mad island won’t move, just drifts And I can only watch you strand yourself
