in the gaps between the rain
the sound travelling is Scorpion
counting notes, thumbing tens
and the murmuring of dead
the dead who died
because of him
in the gaps between the rain
there aint nothing
just nothing

on the street where you live
in the spaces between parked cars
in the gaps between the paving stones
in the lengths between your walking feet
there aint nothing
no god
no love
no truth
just nothing

in the silence of your old lovers' mouths
in the heavy breathing of your sleeping self
in the whirring of your CPU
in the draining of your washroom taps
there aint nothing
no piece of honest
nor of lie
just nothing
you hear nothing
you taste nothing
this is your harvest
you get nothing

in the speech of the latest king
on the mountain of the latest god
between the wisdoms and the holy scripts
you get nothing
for there is nothing
get grip on nothing
my friend,
there aint nothing
and that's your peace.