Dusk sets upon the city,
The sun no longer reigns supreme.
The angels no longer fly,
But the demons slowly don their wings.

Trafficking hands direct the time,
To designated exits in the halls.
Melting arms grip what was once mine,
And mime the motions of our fall.

Phantom coughs rip through the crowd,
Losing their will to speak.
Translucent revolution rings aloud,
Nesting the strong within the weak.

Underneath the underground,
Rats become the leaders of men.
Spontaneity becomes predictable,
And the days of grace are dropped within.

Natural status no longer has definition,
Nature no longer shows premonition,
No beginning or end,
But I'm sure it will start over again.

I must be comatose.