The cities eyes are blinking,
No one's listening to the sirens,
Down the alleys,
Past the raindrops,
That will steal polarity within the night.
The balance falters,
And he opens up his eyes,
Seeing some light buds,
Neon sprites that are conversing in the,
Black,
Of that retched soul that succeeds dusk.
And the stars won't fall asleep,
Until he bids them gone.
They'll sense that he still calls for them.
He won't let the outlined stencils,
Be his pride and joy.
Won't nobody help me now?
Won't nobody come down from the rooftop?
I've got a plaque on blast above my head,
Except for some reason I'm not aloud to read what it truly says.
I look into the mirror,
What I see is my conscience commuting,
En route to distances farther than I've ever traversed.
Conscience please,
If you are listening,
Stay for me.
Just a minute or a second.
Rounded corners straighten out.
He sees great lightness in the clouds.
The night will compose him a symphonic telegram.
All the wisps in the wind will harmonize together.
Splitting the air with their brisk,
Life-pulverising,
Heartbeats.
