Comin' down to the wire.
The notes keep getting higher.
Out of the fat and into the fryer.
Preachin' to the choir.

They come around like birds in a flock.
Flockin' everywhere.
They say this and they say that,
Might seem like they don't care.

One sometimes soars so high;
We all just stand and stare.
Her wings are streamers in the sky,
We could all be there.

Comin' down to the wire,
The notes keep getting higher,
Out of the fat and into the fryer,
Preachin' to the choir.

I look into their eyes and see
Them lookin' back at me.
It's a hall of mirrors everywhere.
Enter if you dare.

The facts of life are dark and cold
Or so it sometimes seems.
They reach out and take my hand;
I melt into their dreams.

Comin' down to the wire.
The notes keep getting higher.
Out of the fat and into the fryer.
Preachin' to the choir.

02/26/2004

Author's Note: A song, and a poem, dedicated to my friends at pathetic.org.

Posted on 03/24/2005
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin