There's a [buzzing] strip light on the lowered tile ceiling
Interrupting a snacking routine,
As crumbs fall like snow to the spine of H**t magazine.

The music was bored, stripped of her youth,
In favour of repeat and roll.
As time pays the bills and buys comforts for kitchen and soul.

Gotta seize the day,
Oh God, let us pray
That the sunshine won't go away.
And she left today,
Lit the fuse and staggered away.
[Swept] The last evidence to the hole inside the day.

Through faded mugs on postcards,
[We] Wage futile war against the grey.
As we peer through menthol scent fingers to 9:38.

Ten hours later, music drives a car down to the lake,
Now she's taken enough
And now someone will pay.

Gotta seize the day,
Oh God, let us pray
That the sunshine won't go away.
And she left today,
Lit the fuse and staggered away.
Swept the last evidence to the hole inside the day.

El Hornes.