the treachery of tides
Patient planets on their wheels revolve
they answer not for the treachery of their tides
But we’re made guilty of our own disasters
and we’ll hang by our own lazy geometry.
Our very own hapless crookedness
is reason enough for our bankruptcy
Oh, we may pretend and invent kinder tales
but in quiet rooms, in privacy, let us confess
that we, ourselves, are the choking strychnine,
and the muscles controlling the bone-white hand
if we all become handsome skeletons
who lack marked grave stones
let’s call it karma.
.
.
A song for this
I Remember the Sun by XTC
Invisible Sun by The Police
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