rex tremendae

all creatures burning
all thoughts alight
and the world turns, turns, turns

the rain is hailing a blue-green sky
it blurs and tears so the papering shows
murky glue, spare roll under bed

could we do it again, do you think?
could we do it even better, do you think?

could we do anything at all, without knowing where we're going, or is having no cares the key?

lime-flavored metal kicks death at a doorstop
small steps may be stupid, but i'll be a kind flop

with no month to my name and no tag to my suitcase, i'll stand fairwell atlasing 'til the good folks stop

everyone important is very, very busy
keeping the world turning, and all tiring that
but while i am standing i'm dreaming a tale
of starting tomorrow, with expectations flat