Old, bittersweet memories have washed ashore
At a peculiar time of night
I think of them like they\'re locks of hair
Blossoming like the beaming moonlight
Five years have passed
Since I met the harbinger of death
I almost still can\'t believe I\'m here
Plasma, jumping grasshopper
A familiar aroma
Buzzing around like fruit flies
I\'m the swollen pilot of the aeroplane
Poppy-red, profusely sweating
I\'m a shining diadem
A frown, a raised eyebrow
Sexually aroused
A songbird cursing the drought
I take the Hobson\'s choice, unbothered
I\'ve jettisoned the prospect of a clear victory
I\'m pissed off, drinking a stiff glass of edible bulbs
With guilty hands, I\'m wanting a second chance
Sitting in silence
I haven\'t said a single word
And the hours pass, and the hours pass
And the hours pass, hours pass.