A step and a breeze
The ghost surely knows better
Who knows, the painter may slip
Sea under, mount the shore
Don't be sure
Paint the black of Manhattan smoke
And the abyss thrusts back at the stars
The speeding cars
carried you til the kaleidoscope awoke.
He intensifies himself to an introverted lifestyle
Whiling away at certain things
As the shore covers the walkway
And the terrestrials start to speak.
As we are we still love our sound
Like tendrils of forgotten waters over that shore again
Where has the road gone?
The walkway is a lost city
And our feet are the lone questers
And our minds are the priests that hold this town together.
The running man
Everything laid out, horizontal
Where you have to tilt your head to see
There are sights, there are smells
That intrigue the escapee
He feels powerful and wise
Secretive – so why
He plays the bigger fool than even you or even I
The girl will come and offer
The wisdom he so sought
And with his head held high
He will run and scream and rot
And he will be the controller
And he will be your friend
And he will be the key, in the very end.