Novembre

Must clean up the way until there is no one left alive
And then there is always someone begging for the light. Endtime!
Time, torn and thrown into pre-existential oceans, pre-ritual
Must clean up the way till there's no trace left of me. Endtime!
Did I see me last night? Then denied it today?
Same solitude rite, done again?
It pours down upon me
Disgorging down from above.
And now it's too late.
Now, how are you tonight?
Is there any way I could be of help tonight?