Counting breaths and moving boxes, meditation apps.
Drove from Santa Barbara, to paint the ceiling black.
The mall was in a lock down, build an imaginable yacht.
Running from reality to find what never was.
Standing round the coffin, people crying, mocking life.
Went home to find the loveless dying eyes of your wife.
The start is now a roundabout, we’re back from the past.
Let’s live and die and all between and count all that there was.