And what now?

The sun is undead,

and so it was yesterday

and the day before.

But I went down, got down,

and I came back to tell you of the

things around there.

The scuttling empires, the tea kettle kept screams.

You can hear everyone sleeping and the night terrors they might

dream.

The plastic books, and the paper dresses.

The sky swirls together the

heavy clouds and rusted air ships, monstrous metal horrors that float like feather-ton boulders just feet above

our heads.

And what now?

Yes, I am those things too.

And I pressed my lips against your collar,

so they are you.

Silver don't block sadness,

and gold don't blow out madness.

What we have here now,

is a mine of mind and soul.

Both are victim to the ugliest things you can imagine.

I am sorry,

I am what I am,

and you are of me.