When the contact high from the real life adventures wear off,. You find, in the tiny moments that bomb, your old files rain down from the sky.. And would they fall down, like cymbal crashes, would the alarm bell sound?.
Pinwheel spark break loose and roll. Where you stop nobody knows. Just a thought but gone down. It's been carved into a point understand. . Turned into someone that you only know.
Here come the fortune seekers. Backyard dreams that bleed their secrets. The fortune seekers. Spinning wheels in the sand. All out of body, out of hand.
Ready to bolt. at the first glimpse of failsafe. Signing my checks. with a name that's not mine. . Clocking the hours that spin round through the tail end.