Sky Full of Stars

Blasted, the worn out ruins of the town
Sit sad on a slanted slope down
We complain, we drain
Out the great reservoir of pain

Our
Collected shit, collected on the hour
Hour by hour, it creeps
Up our backs, drips down our brows where worry sleeps

A fucked up junkie walks past a nice young man
An old sleeping couple with no money can
Do nothing to stop the switched on light,
The kicked down doors seen with fading eyesight

*

It's nothing though.
If you want, you'll find your perfection in the snow
Straight white, blank verse
Or else a deep black rhythmic hearse.

It doesn't matter, nothing does
No more than the buzzer buzz
The blinding rhymes, the apple bruises
'The good life', or, who 'wins' and 'loses'

We are not the only people, nor the lone planet.
We come and then go, no matter how we plan it
Out of place, perfectly in place
A whisper or a shout sound the same in infinite space.

The sky full of stars, the bright dots
Money troubles, blood clots
Tight knots, tighten more
And more, until we are truly madly deeply sore

Seriously, nothing, we are nothing at all
We are ludicrously small.

Wasted time? Troubles? Oh, we love our sad lies
Every bright dot is a star full of skies.