Slowburn

It starts and stops in little things And as we age and lose desire The middle line starts to blur It slowburns to carelessness The middle man who sinks to stay in grace

Friend to all Loyal to none But before I walk that Rope I'll hang from it

So instead I'll bury them Bring hammers to heads Plant flowers on their skulls Like there was nothing ever there

Friend to all Loyal to none But before I walk that Rope I'll hang from it

My choice Your time to disappear