Keep your eye on the ball. Nice level swing. Keep your feet on the ground, nevermind that sound and ignore that sting. From here I will disappear. I won't fail. To a man with only a hammer every problem looks like a nail. This ghost town is nothing but hollow. The callow are trained to carry and follow. Bitter and fallow, empty if not shallow. No such thing as tomorrow. From here I will disappear. I won't fail. To a man with only a hammer every problem looks like a nail. From here my wearying ghost will be carried and here the last traces of sunlight are buried. Where is the sun? Where is everyone?

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