With a wimper.

Sad

Oh how the ends end up

Often just ranting train wrecks

Our silence covered in spider webs

Mostly fluffy bits like garbled nonsense

Eyes staring steadily at times nothing's

The fading of memories over talking

And jabbing pens into software

We can call it good or whatever

You can call me a duck

Go ahead and I'll quack

Then fly off to paris

Lay an egg and

Take over an artificial lake!?