We are lost, you and Igroping around in the mists of each other's uncertainties,
mired in the mud of distrust and despair and of pride.
Our spiral has broken and fused itself into a circle,
like a stylus-cut worn vinyl record, we lurch and repeat,
we are stuck, we are stuck, we are stuck in a tight loop of darkness,
recrimination deafens us, spoken, unspoken,
we are blinded by old dreams exploding like far supernovae,
we are wounded by remnants that tear through the stuff of our lives.