Phages

Let's start this song with a stroll around

Late and cold we wander; smell of sale and cumber walks.

The faster we go the quicker we'll end, with lack of homegrowns in the gardens we tend.

Tada to townlight fire.

Forks in the road we're not.

A rush of spring makes diamond rings

Of grass blades some and everything.

Beige-backed jumpers scared from those crooked stares, proved wrong

On public roads named by our attic air.

Tada to townlight fire

Forks in the road we're not, spoons more so we're caught.

This town is dead from too much living, let's make our ending from new beginnings.

Let's raise a barn from strongest of cedar and leave it all to forces of nature.