Here we are again thinking
our way back to where we always go.
You never tried to find the truth
you weren’t allowed to know.
I bury my bare hand deep within
the fallen snow, reaching for the winter
while it falls around us, even though…
You make a change but you want
to change back. You empty clips
with that old gun up on the rack.
Never wasting any chance for an attack.
There is chaos everywhere, and
we aren’t even looking back.
By moving pieces on the board
you find the slipping time.
Wrapped around a woman’s neck
like it’s some kind of sign.
There’s newer models, but you can’t
replace the old design.
You take a long pull while you wait,
and man that hit’s sublime.
Teleporting Typewriter 