Sombre streets of flooded yellow,
dim crusted lime, scarlet red as blood,
pavement melted , molded black,
dripping with the crimson splash.
Lamppost,
where the tree once stood.
Light source,
replaced the sun.
Sleek but old,
dead but young.
Whispered voices,
softly sung.
Cracks left of silent footsteps,
Come now, quick now,
blue shall become gray.
Steel and flaked, the metal world,
sing to me today.
Lamppost,
where the birds once flew.
Light source,
those burning eyes.
Dead is the sound,
a memory now,
haunting, shattering
forever.
Murdered forest of cracks and edges,
sharply turned, smashed in, shatters
of solid, clear water left so careless.
Billowed clouds of foul ashes,
twisting among the lost spirits.
Lamppost,
where the air was clear.
Light source,
all we held dear
now only teardrops
come falling down,
now only dead-sung,
voices so sacred.
Footsteps dropping the mourning music,
breaths so deep of ghosts so sullen.
The days have lost,
the nights have won.
But no wolves are singing,
no owls bringing
the lost mystery of ever
to share in the dim.
Lamppost,
where the life once lived,
Light source,
where the sun once hid.
Waterfalls of broken minds,
bleeding hearts
of what divine?
Gaping wound of scarlet, crimson,
wash the lime, dull the lemon.
Tatters soaring on the wind,
tilted wings of ragged feathers
once of brilliance,
once of wonder.
Lamppost,
oh, lamppost,
chosen too quick our fate,
too long our suffer,
for where you are now,
so tall, so sleek,
was where the last tree,
-the last tree-
once stood.
