It starts and stops in little things
And as we age and lose desire, the middle line starts to blur
It slowburns to carelessness
The middle man who sinks to stay in grace
Friend to all - loyal to none
But before I walk that rope I'll hang from it
So instead I'll bury them
Bring hammers to heads
Plant flowers on their skulls like there was nothing ever there

My choice: your time to disappear