Far From El Dorado

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.