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the beauty of it all...
floodlights are empty, its close to dawn
wrecked night past in dream's glory..
now we wait,
wait for the eyes to burn bright,
wait for the mourning newspaper..
of a hundred deaths on a railway track..
a hundred more on the streets..
they are ribs,no flesh,around they roam
and for him in a softened bed-terror starts at home
oh,the joy,and the pain
and sorrows of a rusted bane.
it burns in agony,
in torture they weep.
and i see the beauty of it all,
chuckling, dead in my sleep.
