A 2 pm morning I'm greeting, The end of meaning. Open my mind just a crack, And look what crawls in. Now I'm trying to keep my head above, Your dead pool, Deep end. I sold myself in; In on the joke of the spin, But this burned-in cynical grin Is fading again. Turning the hooks to catch nothing, I'm let off. You live in your head and love no-one, At all. Spotlit marks for your self-styled, Comic book sharpshooter. Blind spots before. I sold myself in; In on the joke of the spin. Now this burned-in cynical grin, Is fading again. Peeling those tired eyes, To steal and refine some sleek pitch line. Wide of the mark, pressed to define. Connect the dots, Line by line. I sold myself in; In on the joke of the spin. Now this burned-in cynical grin, Is fading again.