Clear cut keys tap away the seconds,
As the whirring air conditioner siphons away each breath.
The silence hangs heavy, pallid and profound.
A shroud upon the bloated corpse of thought.
A world where the written word is king,
And governs almost everything you do.
Is studied and examined in the bowels of buildings bare,
Just read it once, and sigh, and then you're through.
For the whispered words of people used to shouting,
Make for awkward sounds for minds to grasp upon.
And for students of the word to fail and be silent,
Lends little hope to set this down and done.
This bodes even more ill.
Sevenfold secrets surrendered by sorrowful silence.
Terrible terrapins, toasted towards the turning.
Loudmouth larrikins, leaping and lowering lungs.
Bastard boys, blighted and blessed before.
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