Fermata

You ask me a question,

I pour you some wine, say "I don't know"

How are we running out of time when it was going so slow?

Time, the fragments, the pieces, like gravel out on a dirty road

Time, the anchors, the blinking of ambers for the heavy load

Now who are we, now that we're old and free?

Don't let them down, when you can let them down easily

You can try to let it go but you'll never succeed

Time, the spirits, the visions, like linens hanging on a laundry line