Stars are out
A few too many for a one track mind
To count
The scenery is like a matte painting
Where the artist
Simply forgot to finish

This December moon
Hangs a bit lower in the sky
Than I remember
Your hands feel icy
But if I turned my head
Your gaze would be colder still

My desires are self-evident
While yours flutter
And flitter in the winter breeze
There are no shooting stars left
They've all been shot down
Leaving dust to fall around us

Our lips used to crash
Along this horizon line
Saturated by a fountain of youth
But this phase has ended
We are waning like the moon
Waiting to be made new again

going down this long lost road
traveling under the waning moon
thinking upon memories of old
I feel my impending doom
we are pilgrims in the age of fire
we are gods.. truth we aspire
voyaging deserted corridors
painted in cast iron blood
a great spectacle of gore
like nothing you could think of
elaborate scheme between hunter and pray
scrambling the mind and left in disarray