Waiting is hell,

especially here, when I can't think or remember what's going on,

or what it felt like last time,

all I know is theres something I'm waiting for,

among the screech-cry of openings,

some sense needs to be woken with an alram clock.

And there it was,

and we all knew it,

couldn't sleep through it anymore,

so loud our veins broke bleeding,

nerves spewed vapour out the cracks of our ears,

shrill from a rust machine's crying,

still under hot lights and cool air,

until the mass began moving.

Chemical vibrations in the air,

nothing to the pulses of our minds and of our ears,

always gaining velocity, pure by acceleration,

fueled by metal screams,

while gradually,

the drums give way to the procussion of bodies,

harder than the song meant to be,

and we wonder why the instruments are connected at all;

for noise is all we hear and light is all we see,

like screeching wheels on a freight train,

two seconds before a crash, lasts for hours,

where the laws that betrayed us form our beat,

then we realize we're all in the sense we dreamed,

seems to take days,

but we got it.