Ascending through grey sky, another echo from the sirens; screeching down below.
An emissive cloud squeezed against our window, then twirled on through indifferent snow.
Inside, nicotine habits pacify our appetite; another day passed by without food,
and as the neon lights flash on and off, our will is such again; temporarily subdued.
Searching the outside trees for a hint of life; the hazel air robes each naked arm.
Left disturbed day and night; sleepless hours, adhering to the authoritarian psalms.
Each little chipping bird, distorted and mute; their clogged throats marks another spring gone defied.
Like missionaries with shattered honor, one by one, they all sought out our window,
and with broken necks, dispersed upon each sideway walk, I watched as they were all shoved aside.
Mildewed water flows down our pharynx, washing down the Thorazine; it’s tearing us apart,
and as your company slips away, the odor of ashtray breaks in; reminding me of liberty's broken heart.
Living on a thin line, on the seventh floor; haunted by these urges I'm trying dearly to escape,
while down below, the workers all lined up keep marching on, tears covering each empty face.
I see a spider clinging to the leaves of dry flowers, scattered across the window plane;
they crumble to dust as she goes, what a perfect observation; such little things keep me sane.
Along the city tops, they buzz to no end; black cars with iron crosses, holding order under sway.
Now the dusty radio on the kitchen table talks of the annual colony shot into space;
step by step, we are all being moved away.