The days are getting thinner,
The blood is running thick.
Deeper crimson than before,
The drains will never drip.
Falling birds swoop past death,
Breaking cars that catch their breath,
Never stopping, never halting,
Never knowing what to expect.
We don’t have spots on our apples,
We don’t have chickens in our trees.
Our arguments aren’t productive
And our autumns aren’t dictated by leaves.
We’re just floating heads above the clouds,
We live for tomorrow and never for now,
Our money is burning and our gas is escaping,
Our words and meanings aren’t really relating.