Interrupted by the TV

The white noise whispers trust.

The walls have paintings of children by the waves.

Im lost and this room isnt mine.

The TV's rust now...

I think I'm hungover from being alive.

Why I hear the rain?

The window shows me sun.

Silhouettes again....

I recognize no one.



A summer walk down

The path of Winter's dusk.

A grain of treasure beheld by my kin

Now I am left in dust.

My head refracts the scene

Of these images forgot.

Listen to your words beyond the trees

Listen to your words behind the trees

I'm granted silence, through the words that value nothing but air.

Noir is not a word

It is only a must.



All I can do for you

Is give you a tribute or 2

But I dont have to speak about your glory

For mine means nothing to you

And now we'll never meet

And be aside these city streets.

Orange Fields Tend to be Sour.