Sometimes it happens moan or mute
The world rolls up into a chute
A great trombone a trumpet
No a French horn
And in this place of dark and brass
Where sound is bent to narrowness
The valve is pressed but in such fuss
The notes produced come out all wrong
And with poor timing
But who are you to arbitrate
And moreover to love to take
A run about exuding pep
But I will note that to forget
Or cover up at least a bit
Will years require
A lifetime easy one can spend
Although you won’t and in the end
Not everyone does get one
Alright alright I’ll write-rewrite
I tell you what I’ll take a bite
Your humor’s rude and out-of-date
The soldier’s coming down the place
He lights the rubble with his light
But thus reveals unto his sight
A bit of nothing
The rubble’s like a microcosm
Not “like”, it is a microcosm
A fractal, brick, bone upon bone,
And parts of bodies loosely strewn
And from on high comes the abyss
The one that we call bottomless
Ah well, that’s that then
