Burning Airlines I Sold Myself In
A 2 pm morning I'm greeting
the end of meaning.
Open my mind just a crack, and
look what crawls in.
Now I'm trying to keep my head above your dead pool,
deep end.
I sold myself in
in on the joke of the spin.
But this burned-in cynical grin
is fading again.
Turning the hooks to catch nothing,
I'm let off.
You live in your head and love no-one,
at all.
Spotlit marks for your self-styled
comic book sharpshooter
blind spots before.
I sold myself in
in on the joke of the spin.
Now this burned-in cynical grin
is fading again.
Peeling those tired eyes
to steal and refine some sleek pitch line.
Wide of the mark, pressed to define
Connect the dots,
line by line.
