To boldly clap in a room full of nothing

you never know, it could be one of those

poignant evenings.

Museum's locked and it's long since past

closing,

you cannot know, you cannot not know

what you're knowing

what can you do, they're all gone

and we'll go too.



The curtain climbs over me every morning.

I don't know why I'm so immunized

against reforming.

To coldly slap at a face full of nothing,

you never know it could've been one of those

looks of longing.

What can you do, they're all gone

And we'll go too.