I have nothing to report on my return Back from fact finding, i have found no facts. Home from the new world, gurkha's gloss turned matte. I want to talk for a second about where we're at I want to talk for minute about that I want to balk for a moment before we yield Faults find their way to cheek each year I have nothing to report on my return But i found comfort in a held-back smile seeping through your speech Sleeping through a few weeks, waiting for the worst to drop Those weeks were astral but i lay in wait for the death-knell Sometimes your day takes a different shape than you thought it would resemble.