Against the white barracks that aren’t quite gray
Stands the image tribute to future me
Of black and green and brown he fades away
Behind the drizzly rain still as a tree
Gravel clinking against the metal frame
As tires rip them off towards the silhouette
The clouds across the sky all look the same
No breaks or pores of thickness will it let
The eldest turns his head without a word
Mourning to his right too easily heard
As the decibels increase past absurd
The music becomes all the eldest heard
Amid the mess he watches with the song
The turn signal was clicking all along