Low Slow

Out from the tunnel you walk all with rungs of bulbs surrounding you like golden laurels

You chalk your hands and you clap clouds

You move deliberately all smooth and deep are your steps to the stairs

Lend impossible cares as you stand and wait for the glare to fade

But I’m already poison-leaden, line with finery the wire you walk

All in war paint the audience is patient

So they can that they were there the day you took your spill

And the net’s escape

The fastest way

But the best of them is the last of them

Their woolen suits are lined with fruit for you

But they never said that it ain’t for you alone

So I say you should just grace them with your old fantastic

Amaze them with your old fantastic

And brace yourself and fall into the air