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Office Of Future Plans
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Abandon
Put on your face.
Graze and eliminate.
List fulfillment, day after day.
Or cling to a trace,
of some half-forgotten taste.
Your suffering won't make you a saint.
Will I ever see you lose yourself,
to a nameless, timeless tide?
All our sweetest sins turn fugitive;
do you know what I'd give,
just to see abandon in your eyes?
Screens in your face,
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static as state of grace.
Evolution, or so they say...
Is this the day,
when things fall into place,
or the empty-handed end of the chase?
Will I ever see you lose yourself,
to a nameless, timeless tide?
All our sweetest sins turn fugitive;
do you know what I'd give,
just to see abandon in your eyes?
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