Poet fills his eyes with all the women of his dreams

His heart’s still full of death, his jam, and the pulsing beams

Ice can fill the room as she changes her first dime

Here comes the night again


The shining stars are eyes, but the good ones are all blinded

She broke him, shattered bare, I don’t think he ever minded

Fire, leather, steal it all when it’s past it’s prime

Here comes the night again


You call this progress?

You call this progress?

You call this progress?

Well I don’t


Standing in the field now, standing watch across his sheep

But she’s intruding him again, she’s stomping on his sleep

Turns around to find out she was never there

Here comes the night again


Waiting for the man, or girl, no rain upon his shoulder

But there’s sweat upon his brow as he feels himself get older

And what the hell must’ve happened over there

Here comes the night again


You call this progress?

You call this progress?

You call this progress?

Well I don’t


Boulevard in the background, just the empty cup in hand

It’s lonely now he can’t seem to want to stand

Spitting in the the sun won’t make clouds go away

Here comes the night again


Poet can’t seem to think the clouds are all around

He looks blindly at the hope that he has downed

There’s nothing more that he can say

Here comes the light again


You call this progress?

You call this progress?

You call this progress?

Well I don’t

 

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