Poets

From the days before the days before my birth A slightly catastrophic mood fell over the earth See before things made of paper and cotton were considered of worth Before the world needed a nazi reason to hurt

Lights Something doesn't feel right You walk and walk deeper into the night Wondering why you'd try to not die on a road that's named suicide

Love is said to be blind of race Outlasting the slowed, dreary pace Verified by the look on her face Infected by the eyes that dare space