While plucking petals from the calendar
The asphalt still smells the same
The moon still shines sideways
And the green of trees is stale

While plucking petals from the calendar
The smoke still smells the same
Shadows still dance in alleyways
And the artificial light is faint

While plucking petals from the calendar
Liars still paint their tongues like peacocks
Colorful words still remain feather light
And a dead light is still bright at night

While plucking petals from the calendar
The days keep getting more and more slender
Hours are condensed into a jumbled cluster
And the ashes of past still smoulder