What hides behind that last speck of light you see when you switch the lights out?
we think the sound of an aircraft is the same in any language
or a gunshot in any tongue.

where do we run to and to who when a new day reboots?

and who would shoot the messenger and not the ferryman?

are the answers in the silence we seek within the darkness of sleep?

They're watching a repeat as if waiting for the season to come into heat and we have the Bullseye on our back.