Read my lips, drain my eyes, wash your pure little face with my unforgiving smile and never look back. This is where the deal ends, when you have turned around the bend, I shall retrace to my circle, waiting to perform the next minor miracle.
Words are of little meaning, when to not hear is your leaning. Strange shapes the lips make they tire, in the mind they create a maze of snares. Echoing fading prayers of sanity, the world transforms into illusion's monastery.
It is now okay that the norm persists and exception is pretty much the most useful lie. Pop it in three times a day -- the magical killer cure, someday all of us would surely die. Just make sure it is on my tab and please leave without even a bye.
What shall we use, To fill the empty spaces, Where we used to talk? -- Empty Spaces by Pink Floyd