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The Octopus Project
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Wet Gold
We have no choice but to destroy, Every note,
And every prototype and every page,
With every pen related to, To our words.
Though it will surely cost us all
- All our thoughts, Though it would only say we're sorry...
All evidence was sent to torch - By our pain.
And that seemed like a bit of sky that night.
Most of us saw the springtime stars, By the lot.
And afterwards we had to tell - Tell ourselves,
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That certain plans have secret endings...
We fleeted back to listening. See reason;
We have created this expensive mess.
The laughing voice was deafening - Who could know?
Well there's our letter send it now.
What wonders?
What will we have then to remember?
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