Out of Print

Page by page keeps turning, but you can't seem to read a single word
 The night seems heavy of its yearning, for something that never spoke but only heard
 Tell them it's the season or blame it on the matador
 Force it on your auntie or a friend
 But when it comes right down to it, nothing really seems to fit
 You'll know it all the way down to the end
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 The name of the game is quite unfriendly, with lots of syllables not many vowels
 It's important that you treat it very gently, for it often gets mistook for something fowl
 Your spine has cracked and dried, watermarked and died
 Wasted time, I know you thought you tried
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 Tell them it's the season or, blame it on the matador
 Force it on your auntie or a friend
 But when it comes right down to it, nothing really seems to fit
 You'll know it all the way down to the end
 Tell them what your burdens bore, the skeletons will wash ashore
 Absolving you from all unholy sin
 But when it came right down to it, nothing ever seemed to fit
 You've known it all the way down to the end.