I face the firing squad alone
Beneath a canopy of learned women
We dream of stories undefiled
Tossed into the sunrise
And damaged by a fire
We are forever broken
In the deep-fried hours of the morning
You collapse the course of history
Is it better to be afraid of the dead
Or to respect them
She whispered to me
We are all alone and neglected
Grief overtakes my exit strategies
And I am instantly reminded
Of visiting Prague in the springtime
I have no clue why i mention
These isolated images and feelings to you
Perhaps, to one day be deserving
Of something beautiful again