is this what you wanted for a fire?
your promises turn to promise pyres
you speak in turn for fear you'll be named
with the red herring
you're so hard of hearing
in flux but still the same
and that temporary lobe
won't make you listen
your mind is fishing from murky mire
your tackle is composed of faulty wires
you need no explanation for how this goes to waste
in your somnambulatory haste
do you dare catch fire
for fear that you'll be named?
with the red herring
so hard of hearing
oh how we squandered it all
these squawking halls
the squall in the walls
