The listening times

These are the listening times
The last breaths of the night
We smoke our desperate fags
Regard the ugly light of the morning

These are my morning thoughts
Everyone looks awful
We need to go to bed
This conversation's never had
It can't get out

Like pasture they're growing thick
Green, and on the ground
Everyone looks down
At a person gnawing on their shoelace

Tonight, we'll set sail for the tropic of Capricorn
The kebab shop at the horn is open till the sun comes up

That is all