The Next American Epic

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Three Survived

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The novelist wanted a room
He came in, carrying himself like a front-end loader
Back hunched, though in a formidable way
There was nothing weak or-or-or vincible about him
Just something... sinister, which unnerved the receptionist

I remember him clearly
His dialogue was a brook of prolonged and complex vocabulary
It perplexed us at first and did little to ease the tension

He wore a trench coat that was intriguingly too long
And a pair of reading glasses that hugged his nose like the edge of a cliff
He asked for a room and a month alone
And demanded that no staff bother him and that his calls be held
That was fine with us
And left him we did
To allow his mind to-to fester over his stay
Locked in the room overlooking the garden
Dreaming up a tale
The Next American Epic

Look inside yourself
Can you find yourself
Have you lost yourself
Where will you find yourself
In the pages of the book in which you unwound yourself
In the pages of the book the cost which you paid yourself

The death of the hermit came as a surprise to many
The shock worked its way through the town
A ripple of word of mouth that gradually spread from one end to the other
Each individual was seized with a fear and mistrust of their friends and peers
Which would not leave until their mind was blank in a way that was only possible if they were asleep
Or dead
The funeral was interesting
People weren't sure whether to go or not
To some it felt insensitive and to others
It felt a necessity
Whether you were there or not didn't matter
You knew about the hermit
Everyone did

The investigation started immediately
Starting at the hermit's home and going from the shore all the way to the neighbouring towns
I-it was difficult to say what had happened
But as the list of suspects wittled down
The fear in the town only grew higher
"Who killed the hermit?" They would ask
And ask they would again and again
Until finally came the answer
Who killed the hermit?
The novelist killed the hermit.

Frenzied eyes
Dash to the toilet
Puke bile into the depths of the hotel sewage
Hotel? Or prison?
Not sure anymore
My mind filled with a battle
A battle between fiction and reality
"Who killed the hermit?" They ask
"Who killed the hermit?"

I don't know anymore
If I even did know in the first place
Who killed the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?
Trust in the eyes of another
But I, I am alone
Who killed the hermit?
Submit myself to the shortcomings of my tales
Submit myself
Submit myself
Who killed the hermit?
Was it me?
Is there blood on my hands?
Who's to say?
Not me, for now I am mute
Who killed the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?

Out the window, I see a gardener
He peers at me with untrusting eyes
Unforgiving
He knows
He knows what I've done
He knows that I killed the hermit
Who killed the hermit?
Did he kill the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?
What is-is real?
Who killed the hermit?
Who killed the hermit?

Good Lord
Good Lord, take pity
Take pity
I did not mean to kill the hermit
Who killed the hermit?
Who was the hermit?

I can taste the bile
Who killed the hermit?
I can feel the blood
Who killed the hermit?
I can see the other side

I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit
I killed the hermit

I killed the hermit

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