It was at night, if you went out anymore - you would drift from street to street, looking through the bolted doors.
A brush of fear, tugging deep within your nerves, a cracking whip you yearn to feel a little true in your marrow.
For any right that you all could wish to have to outlast your permanence; to erase what you can’t give.
Now you’re alone, deep in the canvas of the city; little black lights paint the sky, urgency propels your dreaming.

And you’re in car that you labor to excise; changing colors, falling down, keeping lower than the eye
That where it goes is an aim unto itself; how can you know when it is time? How can anything belie
The notion that we are masters of ourselves when all around you is defined like a shackle or a glove
And if there’s one thing you can keep, then it all comes rushing back. Chthonic Erinyes you were; now’s the hour to give it back.