It’s a little spot
Just past the trees
At the end of the road
Where the sidewalks meet

A real small little place
So apart from the fray
As the world bustles on
The river bends to get away

At the far end of the tunnel
Past the edge of the cliff
At the bottom of the ocean
When it’s the final riff

When there’s so much left to do
Yet there’s nothing to be done
The wise man will speak again
His mouth opens like a gun

The wide-eyed scout the edges
Their teeth glisten in the sun
But they daren’t step inside
Lest they ruin all the fun

The children sometimes play here
Though they like to keep their space
But they leave once their eyes open
And they can’t see what they face

And the world is always ending
And this place will always exist
And we can hardly stand the waiting
The surreal urge we must resist
To anticipate the day
It clutters open like a cyst.