Sleds to Moderne
Save an era, an era of pure sleep.
It’s easy to [believe],
while likely knowing any minute now we’re leaving.
Nothing good can come of dear nostalgia,
seeping through the centuries.
I deserve a, I deserve a piece.
[??? ??? ??? ???], not knowing what that even means.
We disappear into a cloud of moss and slander.
Nothing good can come of all and sundry,
steeping in antiquities.
I deserve a, I deserve a piece.