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I always talk to myself |
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They were lost under a holocaust sky |
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Floating mute and eyeless in air thick with disappointment |
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And there were cobwebs and shreds of dreams caught in her hair |
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There are summers and shreds of dreams caught in her hair |
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The hand that holds a cigarette and trembles and points at him |
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Round and round and round she says were all alone she says |
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He only looks down at his feet and knows they are flying |
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He grins and gives her whitened bones |
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They stand and she shakes the dead leaves from her like water |
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And they walk away from everything |
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Know that they're nowhere nowhere |
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They can never go home |
