After the orgasm of storm,
I am left with the desloate rebirth of your utopia -
sun-drenched clouds and a tearful moon,
sing of a newborn's glory.
I alone weep at the crime scene.
These things remind me that I, too
am nothing but a common killer.
Tonight, the skies weep for our loss.
Star-spangled defeat, and the taste of deceit
ring in this New Year.
Stars hang, like white lies,
and I am not allowed to shine in your sky.