Wake up late for work on a night off
and there ain't shit been rested.
Head spinning like cloud cars
drunk driven over Bespin.
Rollin' high and deep like Lando
with no cape to impress heads.
Just a gambler out of time
with no chips to grease hands,
but many words to make promises.
Double suns and dueling stars,
long waited nights and sunsets.
Trading blows with an empire crush
that's taking any and all long and last bets.
That's no moon in the sky
it's the eye of final dooms
dawning like a bad dream two hours
before waking clears
its throat in your bedroom.
Ain't shit changed about a god damn thing,
you're still one slip away from obliteration.
One nod, one switch, one arbitrary
move of a gloved hand in arbitration.
One sneeze, one blink, one pair of pants
pissed in before the sword of legend
makes land fall in your skull and grants
release to the agony of dreams wished in.
The death star is Polaric and you're just a puzzle piece,
an eyelash for the wiping
before a finger of unrelenting justice
you don't believe in or ascribe to,
but that doesn't matter because
it ain't your universe and you're not the master,
you're just a table owning number
running asshole trying to make disaster
into something other people can invest in
trying to make the most of your exile
to a fucking cloud city casino
in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant
to which you weren't called,
that shit was destined.
It's not your galaxy, but is your world
and on the planet that never sleeps
the dice is still in your hand tight curled
and making something like a fist,
remembering the stars undead
on which you used to wish.
There is no rest to be had
no pain small enough to be lessened,
so hold the sharp edged six faced
dream machines and make a wish
against all reason, chance, and the empire's rule
because the mechanics are quantum
so even the all knowing
are educated guessin'.
