Over the city while we sleep,
Outlined birds under the snow
Dream about us.

There used to be an old woman
with an apple tree, and she'd
let me shoot at her.

The blackened foam beneath the
cliff aspired higher than they
ever could.

Who is that lying in the ash?
Without food and without heat
and without blinking?

The ******* the right finally
said something to us that was
not that funny.

To the sand, to the boulevard
with a bang in the heart, and
with plenty to spare.

But don't listen to me,
I'm just the last six words
of a story you've all heard before.
Everybody knows what happens next,
we just like to doubt.