This is a place of unrest

Have a last look into your singular memory and leave it all behind

Sinkin' down like a pile of fine sand through the neck of a blown glass timekeeper

Another man's design

Wax drip kisses the lip of the table while the polish is punished for the whole affair

Don't you know that life isn't fair?

It's got mountains of good fortune

But some, they get pulls of poison

No sleep, no dream

In the dark empty

It's only as bad as the worst memory

See what it see, be what it be

A maker of senses

A self possessed interest

Clinging to an existence

You tired and you listless

Oh it's the age of splendor!

The spent are spendin' bigger…

We could leave it all behind

Sinking down like a pile of fine sand through the neck of a blown glass timekeeper

Another man's design