Tragedy drifts in on rails in misty twilight
To this town of work and pride turned counterclockwise

So his banker and his creditors
and landlord nip his heels
He's a single-cell non-startup,
peddling high-price small town deals
And the streets remain deserted
but for groups of laughing men
in that action-hero daywear,
deathless anger to expend

There goes Waterface
here goes Waterface

Pep-talks pour out of a face
swollen with excuses
Pep-talks tore this city's guts away,
but somehow, the talker never loses

On the network stream of scenes
we watch him facing
seven yards of blank blue screens
gravely waiting

So his children and "apprentices",
three generations on,
decline to look straight at him,
how they want him to be gone,
And he breathes in fragrant acetones
from the truck-paint shop downstairs
And he types out affirmations,
and he vainly tries to care

There goes Waterface
There goes Waterface