fifty one

little filthy children.
screaming.
so loud.
because they know that no one can really here what they really want to say.
the blood in their veins lets them know the music's playing.
lets them know their dirty little hearts are working.
their screams a result of their want for love.
their want for life.
their guaranteed death.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

death and the coming apocalypse is an accepted fact instead of a feared coincidence.
the turning world will come toa halting stop.
the impending death of a finite existence.
coming to a close.

it is their own fatalist mortality that makes them scream.

electrical apocalypse

i could not stay awake
though the large earth quaked
and your voice came down to meet me

my eyes closed slowly
"hold me if you love me"
were the last words i heard you speak

remember the road east from nashville,
the morning in our eyes?
you wrote me love songs
while i told you lies

we thought "this will be forever
we thought the end would wait
now we're stumbling together
as the
electric
sun
breaks.