Same dream again.
The one where I can taste
the blood in my throat,
and as it lurches toward
the end, you drop the saw
and you walk away from
the mess we made,
as I gasp for breath
in the colonnades.
They say that it's a blank slate.
But only because
everything's grey.
You can try to awake,
but when you open your eyes
it won't go away.
When you open your eyes
it won't go away, it's
the mess we made,
as you lie in wait
in the colonnades.
We were making it black and white
out of the grey.

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