Orange bricks spit out the pastel night
Flowing through the rough edges like an old man's raspy scream
And the frigid moon is strapped out of sight
By cloudy skies and darkened eyes lost in a drunken dream
Cold wind devoured by a moistened cave
A cage like structure where a poor soul sits and contemplates
A mouth that is sentenced to never say
Only hums out of mended lips, known as moments left to fate
His midnight eyes have seen far beyond these walls of marrow
Of concrete caverns where fears are dealt with the ripple of a reflection
And curtains of flesh draped down to hide him from sorrow
And to where breaths shared amount to more than just fatal attraction
But in this place he lays down his aching bones
And plants all the breaths and time he has yet to know
And though in this place only an impression of restriction is shown
He drags his weary remains into this tomb he'd like to call his home
