by Tom Saer

Breathing binary air loss
In a separate dream about top surgery
I guess rhetoric wins in the end

Maybe the water’s taking a bank holiday
And your side is pierced
With one collective neck and my hands around it
Or maybe that was the other guy

Rhythmic tarmac accompanied by the band’s trademark twin guitar attack
Shuddering occasionally to the odd pothole or change in technique
Now that’s something I can really think about next time I’m between the hammer and the anvil

Perhaps I should do my part in the Apostolic construction site
Since being worried makes me worthier
This Friday’d better be good

Where the fuck did the Hecatoncheires go?
I guess they lost
That’s right – rhetoric wins in the end