The float.

Tunes in my head: Behold The Temple Of Light by Pink Floyd
Atmosphere: Depressed

beyond range

you say you have no chance of surviving the war
but how is that possible from so far away
it's not like you're in life's beauty pageant
but still there's the threat of distortion fear
you say you have no choice, you have to run
but what pride is left but some tainted proud
the signal of human detachment is flown
but nobody sees it nobody dreams it

it's like the life of repeat is wrong
and your shelf life has just run through
you're attracted by the peeling away of feeling
and so you stare at the window for seconds
tv screen blaring back at you
you're sucked dry you have none to give
some sharp eyed soldier begs to differ
the thundercrash leads to some strange humdrum

when absolute zero hits you have no wall no warning
alone out in the snow beneath four suns
screaming and begging looked on in pity
but no-one can pull the hand that bites
the bravery of release of being out of range
is one that is ultimately compromised by need
feeding off the pain and decimated by care
the awful feeling comes and rings are thrown