Constantly reminding, the Z's have it. Out of wits, a boring shell shock game. Open this door, around that corner, in full retreat. Take a number, another year. Dissed the respect.
No rut on this road, it's slick and smooth. Done and gone. Vanished. Drunk on day dreaming. Fooled.
Outside, in the cold. Without fire, without fur. Shaking, chattering, uncomfortably numb. Right, but dying. Quick dimmer, like dusk, like a fade.