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Mention of the stars reduce us back, |
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They, about them, have time's things hanging; |
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We are around near the railroad track |
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Checking out the thundering. |
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Names you call could have been ours |
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To call and live among them; |
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Friends come by and spend some hours |
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And then back down to working... |
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At night, things come and half a life, |
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Not so silly walking, |
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All different clothes in the half light |
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And a halting way of talking. |
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There really was one way to be, |
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Yet this is not it, we think, |
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To be such younger folk as we |
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Not levelled as we drink |
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We're busted up, so ragged down |
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And kissing and subsisting; |
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Our eyes glint wild and roll around |
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And the dog, he whines insisting, |
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He asks that we allow the sex |
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To make us unrecognizable; |
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That we allow slow violence |
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To prove us rebaptizable |
