The streets are bright neon
Loud and pink
Purple surging through the cobblestones
Fast and rhythmic, like the sound of a thousand heartbeats
Colours coalesce and scream out
Noise is taste and violent vision
Figuring into the minds eye, a million different anecdotes of a past gone by

A Husband and his Wife entering their house, beyond a white picket fence
A soldier and his last breath shared with an old photograph and a six dollar lighter
A payphone call made to a time when somebody still cared

With their faces towards the fence
Looking in on a familiar little scene
A TV in a basement, a couch nearby
A wooden duck and some magazines
Eyes aching, throat burning
The fence becomes you

The sense of memory, vibrant and overpowering
Questions becoming creatures, the landscape a picture of confusion
The other side, barren and clear
The only feeling left after hope and fear
Not a moment wasted
The city a tear