wind is blowing double, as the world starts to shift
the weight of the high sky is a heat that won't lift,
its the sum of the times and a sign of the drift,
the coming tsunami is starting to split,
its the freezing terror the horror and the tendon I ripped,
the creaking of bone as the sky starts to slip.
and i'm frozen included in the panic the grip,
we're all strung here like pheasants and ready to drip,
from the hot living flame to the cold wax pit,
its a marvel we lasted as long as we did,
so disparate, so desperate so unwilling to fit.