"This jazz will not protect me"
The quicksilver pathways churn.
groanings and bucklings.
On such a night as this it's
impossible to
think of anything but sky.
Its vast quicksilver
and minatory visage.
Even with darkness
you're furtive, you want to hide
under something big.
These scant few droplets now, they
would lure me outside
to my doom, i know, my car
would not protect me.
This jazz will not protect me.
Be quiet, i'll go.
The past is only the past.
