How does one survive
The endless parade
Hands held high
Face painted with emotions in raw
And rare fixations, as trading cards
Burn trash fires high over the Appalachian mountains
Pushing through the crowds of friends
Until all is left are blank and staring forward
Comes my carriage-dawn
Of stick-men
Cut from pleasant trees
Their oaks and cedars baring down against me
How does one survive this endless parade?
Until all that's left is blank and staring forward
Until all that's left is blank
And staring forward