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Tripé San Triché

de West Indies

One more surface glows as I accept my fever
Impart this perfect vision of my blurry theater
New York minute, country mile, severed instinct
Any measure, any means to drop my patience down the sink

Heavy handed, laissez faire
Consolation is a cross to bear
Moments wasted and washed away
All away, all away

Simple creatures seeking out a path to stasis
Treading light on hollow ground, but who could blame them
Watching fires climb the walls for entertainment
One day comes and one day lost, all complacence, no resolve

Heavy handed, laissez faire
Consolation is a cross to bear
Moments wasted and washed away
All away, all away
All away

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