Less than a pin drop, more than an emptiness.
The crowd lingers in opposition to beauty.
There’s a theatre of walruses reciting poems.
I heard the echo of sadness a million times vanish.
Nobody wants to hear the truth?
Less than a pin drop, more than emptiness.
The crowd is full of longing and need,
the cheerleaders are older with more assertions
than ever and the boy god recites his prayers blandly.
I heard the echo of a shadow on the silent periphery of madness.
There were no children, only the scaffolding of quiet lies.