The paper is thrown to the floor
A contract at the tail-end of the comedown
You didn't need a guarantee, assurance
Anyone can say spiteful things
Just by word of mouth
Breathing and walking often don't match
At any rate, not before the comedown
The street simulates hyperventilation
Worries for you
Does all the legwork
You can just relax
And stroll on in to this unfounded moment
This episode of concern
This ritual of fixation
And Tradition of The Fail
But a gentle tap always comes to the shoulder
Fingers brought down at the correct speed
Calculated, tender
And exploding with pleasure
Electric, they sit
And you turn to greet the release
Gentle comes the end
So much better than the beginning
You turn to embrace the change
I am out of it now, you whisper
But nothing will hear
The space making it so much louder
Concern evolves into a mild shame
Aware now of that which didn't need such Olympian attention
Was that really it?
Out the other side
Muscles can step down now
The crater is filled
Didn't believe we'd have enough to do that
But what of those that witnessed
Will they be shamed by such corporeal distress
Look up and count all eyes watching as
The paper is thrown to the floor
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