The defeat,

and the social clock destroyed.

where I could be in a factory

helping to build you a new car,

I rather burn and sit,

it fits the situation perfectly.

I feel sad,

but it’s better to live with

that light shining out your eyes.

I write better half drunk

with the moon in a lonesome

room feeling pathetic,

wanting the old you back.

love burns my insides

and my heart races.

I can’t think right now,

tonight you could’ve been

my home.

but other bodies will tumble

on beds with burning love.

we aren’t those things anymore,

my garden dies from the cold,

the factory is calling me back.