The last thing I want is pushing behind
The Hollywood sign,
empty boulevard
Hazel pamphlet,
gazed roads ending
meadow beside the city
The road filled with empty
A mean frequency of few cars
The smokey fumes rising
above the walnut tree,
Flirting with the dangling branch
The waves touching heaven and everything,
To sleep so low,
It makes me bleed
The fire keeping us warm,
untouched cold within,
Everyone using the wood and oil
Belong to the mighty
Hollow of our creed
Belong to the mother of the father that
Made us be
Belong to the ghost that guards
Beneath sheets or,
Feeling lonely
Belong to yourself for
Believing