I don't think they heard you when you said you were free
It happened once in a dream;
I was chasing your tail lights
through the eye of the hurricane,
the radio played your favorite song as I lost control
of the wheel, I woke up feeling more frantic than ever: the storm has seen enough, I am sure of it now.
The air reeks of mutual discontent;
the milage piles up, city after city,
there are question they do not want answers to,
the sleepers walk with their feet burning on charcoal,
they have two good hands they have not yet learned how to use.
Bodies fall like snow in spring:
gone before they even reach the ground,
I am waiting for the awakening.
In the dark, the colors seem so vibrant,
strong scent of pavement covers up the fallacies;
the road ends on the side of a raging river
where the waves never crash,
in the distance, a rotten carcass reflects light from the underworld,
and I can feel the static through the palms of my hands.
O, how I miss my fair Persephone,
but time is cruel and unforgiving,
and it is already too late:
the remnants of her regime
were left on the side of that road
where the sleepers never dream.