The altitude clicks through my head
We join the stagnant air, neon stained
And creep through the hills
Like ghosts of an age almost dead

I’d walk with my people
if I could find them
In the fading light at least
I feel less like a sore thumb

The potential sparks against our ankles
like sirens in the rear-view,
Wading through the space
Only the unknown can inflict.

Fear fails to show
the way we knew it would
And the temp can’t master conversation
So we fall asleep, second row,
standing room only
Fog consumes the sound.