We won't need twenty steps today,nthe gallery it swims awaynin Monday shoes.nnIt's awful tempting, might black,nthe way the words run down your back,nbeneath the gentle sway of paper lantern moons.nnCould you be quick or be,ncould you be quick or be tired.nThe tock, the tick of it,natop the funeral pyre.nWe're in the thick of it,nso bite the brick of it all.nnWe gnaw through limbs to extricate ourselves,nfrom where we stand and where we fell,nwhen we don't know how nto sidsetep when tiny gunsnhave made their way through the best of us,nbeneath the gentle sway of paper latern moons.nnCould you be quick or be,ncould you be quick or be tired.nThe tock, the tick of it,natop the funeral pyre.nWe're in the thick of it,nso bite the brick of it all.nnYour tithing teeth have never sung,na fitting tune for a setting sun.nI know your ghost is somewhere good.nnWe haven't seen and we'll never know,nwhere summer sleeps and the springtime goes.nWe only hope it's somewhere good.