Turn of the century
A millennia come to pass
I am an artifact
A remnant of the last
Out of place in either
A man out of time
Old soul suspended on a wire
My precarious position
Hung up on reality, despite my ceaseless wishing
Turn of the century
A millennia come to pass
I am an artifact
A remnant of the last
Out of place in either
A man out of time
Old soul suspended on a wire
My precarious position
Hung up on reality, despite my ceaseless wishing