Semaphore

Tempered in the passage of the long and boring day Water boils as our spoils slowly turn to clay Turn to clay and then to dust and then into the ground Wonder what these spirits get up to when I'm not around Here's a chance to change the very nature of the beast A game we'd claim was not our aim but maybe you at least Will admit there's something wrong with the breaking of the bend A tightrope walked, a circle chalked around you in the end Will I bet or leave it yet, the choice is never plain Choice and chance and happenstance I swear I can explain I can explain I swear but wait I just don't have enough The weathers foul, and wolves will howl out here in the rough Might be worth the while if it's written out to see Semaphore, an SOS, smoke signals from the East Sorry but I never learned to understand the signs To me you speak some sort of Greek so sorry never mind