mind your watch and your step

or you might sleepwalk into grey hair.

you’ll look up from pointless handiwork

and see a foreign place that used to be yesterday.

you’ll come home from the unending wars of moments

and some old bastard in a mirror will spit on you.

you’ll weep, oh you’ll weep

for the time when your chains were imaginary.

you’ll beg, oh you’ll beg

for the awkward body and unmade decisions.

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