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And when i woke up, i woke up stiff and grey already, |
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Posed in sleep by something half my cells made stone, |
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Wrists and ankles crossed at a vulnerable angle, |
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And when i woke up, well i woke up alone |
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As the only fool or pharaoh present, |
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In a shoddy school museum collection |
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Looted of gold, if there ever was some, |
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And even the good wood gone |
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Remaining fingers curled around the memory of ra, |
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Left not even with my death mask on, |
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Heart and other organs missing for so long, |
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Features faded and dated in estimation, |
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And even the good wood gone |
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Drunk off a leak in the ceiling, |
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Some mantra stuck on my lips in vain |
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No flash photography, |
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No flash photography, |
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No flash photography, |
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And when i'm really buried i'll be buried in cleveland, |
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With a new pair of skis and someone's old set of keys to their car, |
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And bottom floor apartment door and health club locker, |
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Throw the scent of my true purpose from god and grave robbers |
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My true purpose which i will have taken the care to have kept hidden |
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Even from myself my whole life |
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No flash photography, |
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No flash photography, |
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No flash photography, |
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Already grey and rehearsing my mantra, |
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Left hand gripping hockey stick or cattle prod, |
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My final futile act of double deception, |
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Aloof and tinged with truth as the best lies are, |
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As i've always shot pool south paw, |
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And many of you who knew me saw |
