i fear this might be the end of my days

crying into my scry glass

i suppose we could always pawn that old guitar

maybe we shouldn’t have ignored all those portents

someone is watching me and i’m not sure why

dancing between the dead machines

we’re all some kind of a machine powered by water and heat

but are we sure bela lugosi’s dead?

we’re dizzy but we know we’re safe

everything’s happening at the same time