The Listening Times

These are the listening times The last breaths of the night We smoke our desperate lies (?) Regard the ugly light of the morning These are my morning thoughts Everyone looks awful We need to go to bed This conversation's never had It can't get out Like postums (?) Growing thick Weaving on the ground Everyone looks down At a person or an ended shoelace Tonight, we'll set sail to the tropic of Capricorn The kebab shop at the dock is open till the sun comes up That is all