I’m like an architect who cashed his check,
but he doesn’t let
on that it’s the last one he’ll get.
Though he knows the funds have run dry,
he wants to have fun for one final night,
staring out at a skyline that he’ll never change.
They’re saying, ’though we like all the things that you’ve made,
notice no one remembers your name.
float through time, feel your
cline day by
You’re like a convert who goes back to work
when he can’t retrieve how the clarity actually felt.
When his coworkers ask him the words won’t come out.
And in three weeks his new leaf has rubbed away
and it feels just like an average day:
facing walls talking into the phone,
sitting dumbly in church all alone,
picking back up the magazines he’d thrown away.
Well, convert, what your god whispered into your ear
you forgot once that god disappeared,
and that life-changing day, you just felt it fade.
You know it’s got to
you know it’s got to
fade, oh, you know it’s got to
down on the
couch, he says, “it’s perfectly that