Shifting gears for pinker skies
The kind of sold on the front of seaside postcards
Each one of my friends a Hephaestus in their craft
Each lover a Kikuri-Hime of their circles
Maybe if I could bend reality to my whims
A tangle taffy version of my arms could reach the port
Drag myself along the ocean
And tag along the festivities as the observer
The ticker tape apocalypse
An absolutely brutal assault on the eyes
Courtesy of a lexicon of primary spin off’s
A fuchsia, goldenrod on the back of a cinnabar sapphire

I could fake it you know, I could invent the craft
A world renowned speugerlist at JUST 23?
I’d blend in as a icon in a shit stain
The ones to make this an origin to be proud of
No one would have to know otherwise
They can’t hear my cliff note records
Vs. Your encyclopaedia volumes across monthly installs
When faced with the riddle; “What you been up too?”
They don’t have to see me wait in silence
As blood brothers recount the resumes of quests
Grit teethed in the thick of the crowd
Pleasantness with those who could adore
“I wrote something this week but… It’s not your thing”
“I know you couldn’t come, it’s allright”

To them it’s like a gap in persona’s never occurred
We’re all still arm in arm cheering on for the next day’s barrage
Planning escapes and anticipating breakouts
To them, that’s still how it is
No one will have to know the wiser
Please just cast of while I’m putting on my shoes
Oh can’t you find it in yourself to stay?
But I know none of us win, if you don’t go away

– Lnc0