Here in a song, patterns crash to a joyful death
Curious lights and supports to which I must bend
As the tendrils recoil, i am short of breath
An indelible magic that they extend
From the background
To the foreground
A game of satisfaction:
A means of getting comfortable
Or sensual reaction
A new escape
Here we are, but maybe not for long
Can it wait?
Here in a song where my conscience will never bow
Cars speeding past, in the median of the road
Think fast, could it burn if i let it glow?
Not too deep, not a waste, if it’s functional
In the face of planned obsolescence
A design without ergonomic limits
Measures bound in whimsy
Gently sanded by nihilism
Denouncing all but amusement
All but enchantment
A game of satisfaction:
A means of getting comfortable
Or sensual reaction
A new escape
Here we are, but maybe not for long
Can it wait?
From the background
To the foreground
From the playground
To the graveyard
A game of satisfaction:
A means of getting comfortable
Or sensual reaction
A new escape
Here we are, but maybe not for long
Can it wait?
