Scenes on
flat screens that lighten my sheets
on corners of soaking wet streets
reminders of long gone defeats
I traded for clocks that don’t run
cause time was no friend of my lust
while turning my gold into dust
broke
my back easy stones trying to fing
my head stuck from looking behind
at towers that rose from the sand
with blisters on my wooden hands
for digging for better we must
while turning my gold into dust
so
now that I’m cured for my drive
and sentenced to my easy life
I cheated with all of my cards
refusing the dust only stars
judging the globe by the crust
while turning my gold into dust
while turning my gold into dust
while turning my gold into dust
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