For The Nicest Neumann.

Baroque Flavours From The Leather Sidewalks of Brisbain.

To wake and know its all over,
or stay up to live it all as fast as you can,
to wear twenty-four stains to keep in mind
the controlled pace of splendor;
couldn't shake off the work,
when the sweat makes the taste smoother;
the hands shade the mind,
as the sunlight fakes a swift turn;
in the season of cinnamon dreams,
too wild to spit out
but enough to just hold on
yet I'm still on my feet,
eyes deep in a shot of self doubt,
to use in florescent places
as it repeats such a pleasant sound;
And when she smiles the taste of a favourite colour,
the swoons keep attacking
when the flashlight couldn't care to find us
but the hold ran away with our clothes
as the fog won't make those polite any smarter
in which the echoes called us all fools
but we're just as young as we write.