The liver of life is squeezed thin, nightmares of nigh terrors
Soon to be disasters, red earth, black wind
The dead are alive in us, alive in the earth, and make us rotten to the core with memory
The stage opens with a whisper of a girl threatening to speak, threatening to destroy the illusion
With her pointlessness, her reflection of you as different, as wrong.
This is the time that we all long for, aim for, desire, need.
This is the highway of our lazy ways, cul de sac of thought.
This hard winter is getting harder
And the idea of home becomes sun cleaned souls
A beach, an empty road, not even a parked car. Not even a car park
Just a road made by men with mortar and buckets of dirt,
Of water and bare feet