Shadowlight
On display
Hiding handfuls
Of treasured grey
Shadowgraph
On the screen
A simple outline
A darkening
In this gown I am cold
The floor is sticky I'm feeling old
When are the people coming?
What in the hell is coming?
When are the people coming?
What in the hell is drumming?
Is my hope displaced?
Ready to escape?
A sense of ending, a sense of fear
I put on my opera cloak
My fateful cheer
An explanation, a set of rules
Requiring attention
But my head's left the room
I hear their words
Their kind solution
But it's a starting gun saying
Run run run