Scrawled into the pavement again and again Written on the red stalls in smokey tin
On the smokey tin it melts again and again
On the booths of the round table again and again
** onto the street and onto the soaking steps again and again
Endless debris sifting through static lungs lingering into every pore
Laced with a bitter face near the dawning of the high and madness of the undertow
We audience who saved our roses We audience who scoffed at the tears
Ugliness stretching toward the chandelier Pale with pain
I imagined the overcome and fell to my knees before the endless
Truth of instability and futility
Now I know
