underground city asleep for so long.

the dirty stranger danced his way down the middle of the street during the middle of the day. he passed out roses to the people he'd meet, saying nothing else ever happens on wednesdays. he had a pragmatic point of view and i guess there was never anything else to do. every wednesday i'd see him dance by with a dozen roses and a glint in his eyes. what i'd give to be that man with love extending from his hands. what i'd give to feel that glint of hope that i've seen sparkle and thrive in his eyes.


we stood out on the bridge, the bridge of death, with all its paint in such peeling glory. the core burned down brilliant with technicolor flames, and nothing else even mattered. the smokestacks that poked the clouds were dwarfed by the climbing flames that put their rainbow on parade. i'm sorry, mistakes were made. as we stood out on the bridge, time stopped that april day. there was nothing else to live for except for the radiant sights of the day. my feelings were trapped inside you like radiation trapped in pockets of air. we stood there watching a sight that no one had ever seen. downwind, i smelled your hair. it smelled like lilacs and lillies. a sharp inhale brought me back down to the bridge with it's peeling paint. as we watched a sight for only our eyes, we sealed our destiny. on the bridge of death you held me, and i held you closely too. downwind from our subsequent extinction, we kissed and everything faded into blue.

all the king's armies are made of sand. cut them like they're children. scrape them like they're knees. will they fall down? will they blink? am i any less of a man? pick up the phone and call me home to you. pick up the shiny carving knife and stab the sand until it bleeds. all the king's armies are only sand. they will fall and i will stand. there's a killer locked up down the beach out of everybody's reach. he's standing half-submerged in the saline solution. riding around in his mind are thoughts of communism, revolution. i am with him in his cell, half-submerged, headed to hell. he tried to kill the armies of sand, but they've been compressed for too many millions of years. they've turned to stone and will not fall. the raging ocean faucet dripped from his eyes. he was crying because he knew they'd never die. with their sandy heads, their coarse stone hearts, and the cold lead bullets that they've been using from the start, they shot me down. they shot him down. we cried an ocean to slowly erode them.