Half an Idiot
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We are indeed drifting into
The arena of the unwell
Eyes on hinds of heads
Staring blank down the gun barrel
It is harsh as we are harsh
Each erodes the other
Well embroiled the mortal coil
Stiffens to a straight antenna
Due north the signal caught
Projects the man who talks of weather
It is harsh, it is thick and fast
It will surely break the stop-bank
The wind picked up where you left off, like a hot mouth to cold spoon
In the Wakari hospital where someone's learning to talk again
If they can find those words they'll tell you the food is terrible
Such are the prizes when you mix twelve standards with a quad bike
Raymond figures he'll get the ute, what with it being a manual
And Jase with his hemiparesis and the diminishing returns of physical therapy