Three kids sitting cross legged in a homemade shed A trifecta, if you may A band of crickets screaming prayers into the humidity One recounted stories of robots in the high school hallways All laughing and golden, whispering empty epitaphs into the abyss Singing songs of nothing to a comfortable god One spoke of aspirations shrouded in cigar smoke A life of more than mother's wishes and monetary muteness Being caught between stagnant calculations and hammered guitar strings Lyrics tattooed the back of her teeth, curious wonderer, light wash grief Questioning the deities found anywhere but her circle of friends And we must sacrifice ourselves to rock bottom One drank a singular beer and couldn't see straight A hole in a head, filling fast with all those secret woodland soliloquies Like for the first time, she could see Clumsy ankles treading through the over brush, love or lust And how should we go on living through these nights fated to end There was a soundtrack to our revolution, Haunting hymns over the busted stereo, Love poems washed away with morning
But the night sounds Oh, the night sounds The holy ghosts in moonlight reflecting off the leaves The sacred rub of skin on skin beneath the moribund trees