Moan

The sense of every moment
Boiling at his fingertips
The blues and whites of tomorrow's children
Are ignored in this skyless night

When i can feel myself
Dripping down walls that have already fallen
In a lack of dignity so sincere
That he would never see me again

Threading itself through mints and berries
Latex and the colour black
The needles spin like clocks
And i could never come to remember

What happened to my rings?