Timothy Alan - Shia's Log: Day 4 lyrics

Day 4. October 26, 2012. 8:44 pm. (I think) I don't have dreams anymore. That short but sweet embrace of the imaginative world where everything is fine and dandy and you can do any and everything you want? It's gone for me. I see Elliot smile all the time while he sleeps. Probably dreaming about food like I would be if I could dream. At least he's got someplace happy to run away to. Kids have the best imagination and outlook on life, I swear. That part of me blew away like dust in the wind a long time ago. I heard a loud, booming sound outside and went to the window to look. I slowly opened the door when music hit my ears, coming from everywhere. Almost like the air was singing to me and whoever else was still alive. Oh, I can still hear the tune in my head now. It was “New York, New York” by Frank Sinatra. I doubt anyone would want to be a part of this place now, though. I like that one song by him that goes “Dun-dundun-dun-dun-dun.” You know the one. I forgot the words to it. Music outside has to mean some sane brains are still wondering around, right? I'm not sure how exactly the music was being played or where it was coming from, but even the Thy-Trips seem to like it in their own way. They stopped feeding off of other people while it was playing, anyways, whatever that might mean to them. Maybe there's hope for the human race still, and all of this will fix itself after a while. Hoping never hurt anyone. The milk finally went bad. Elliot cried, and I wanted to join him, but one of us has to stay strong. That's my job, isn't it? I'm aiming for employee of the month. I hope the boss notices by hard work and effort. Zombie apocalypse promotion, here I come. I'm not sure what we'll do for food, but I have a few ideas that are tumbleweeding around in my head. I scouted out the place earlier today. I didn't feel the best, but I'll only feel worse each pa**ing day we don't eat or drink anything. If my plan works, we'll have enough food to last us for weeks. Weeks. A week is seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours. 10,080 minutes. I would tell you how many seconds, but I left my calculator in the other Starbucks café, and I'm too lazy to write it out. My point is, before all this happened, a week was nothing. And now that seems like a long time now. And we could haul enough food to last several of those. I just smiled. It felt good. I saw Julian gnawing on a seagull in the street today. It took everything in me not to vomit again. The blood and feathers were smothered all around his mouth and cheek. Let me stop thinking about it before I actually do vomit again. If my plan doesn't work out, it'll be seagulls for me and Elliot, too. Here's to hoping for the best, another to hoping that seagull meat is delicious, just in case, and an extra to hoping my dreams come back to me. One more hungry day of living, Shia.