Finish Line

Too late.
He knows you're all back-to-front.
Your bottom lip shaking,
Your happiness quakes as it's torn apart.
Sunday late, when you go and get your stuff.
"What's yours is mine",
That unpractical line
Back to bite your arm.

No, don't leave him anything,
No letters on the side.
You've gone over everything
Screw-ups and the whys.
Erase him, his memory
A tortured decline,
Was never your style.

And it's wild, dreams of the start.
At the finish line.
Gum peeling apart,
From each other’s lives.

Too late,
They all know you hate your jobs.
Your liminal friends with their plans to ascend like some holy mob.
Get it straight, a lifeboat's for better hearts.
Prescription or not, there's some morals forgot,
White-tattoo them on.

No, don't read him anything
No poem, song or line.
There's virtue in everything
But most in all that's quiet,
An action is medalling
A dagger in time.
Better leave it to dry.

And it's wild, dreams of the start.
At the finish line.
Gum peeling apart,
From each other’s lives.

And it's wild, dreams of the start.
At the finish line.
Gum peeling apart,
From each other’s lives.

Wild, dreams of the start.
At the finish line.
Gum peeling apart,
From each other’s lives.
Wild, dreams of the start.
At the finish line.
Gum peeling apart,
From each other’s lives.