Eyes adrift (like fifteen times before),
rapidly recalling the chalk outlines of the murder scene.
Blurring the lines of existence.
Fixated upon like fifteen times before.
I saw him seconds before the moment.
Displacement of context.
"Oh, what a tranquil night this is."
She whispers into his ear, "it's too bad you turned into a phantom."
Fractions of moments captured in the frame of hindsight.
Brief is tranquility as my thorax glides on friction.
It's too bad. (As he fades into obscurity.)

Lyrics submitted by chickendude

There's Trouble on Tromaville song meanings
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