Bicycle riding tyrant
I fear the disappearance of my reflection on the lake
Just let me know where you've been, Pierre
I will be up to no good
Track marks on your papers
Your invention is happening somewhere else, Pierre
Nobody in your bed
I will die all alone
You will arrive and not know anyone
I will share my bicycle
We will pedal through the ceiling of veils and lace
Oh, Pierre take notes on this sunset
I have had time alone to be scared
Now it is your turn
Dig your wooden fingers into each handle
1862, Pierre
You're old
