The floor you walk on is smooth There is no ground there
Magic begins with blood Outside, there are trees,
With concrete under their roots But I have passed the tombs of kings,
Regaled them with pacing, checked bins for food and wrappings
I have scoured the seas for miles, cloaked my face with ash
My fingertips opening, accepting my time

The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes
For me, I'm your sorrow
Calling in your dreams
For me, I'm your shadow
Howling in the streets

Tomorrow, I will walk the streets
And steel myself for the familiar Your eyes
Will not settle, a hunger You'd be happier in your grave
When we meet, share stories, you stretch me I see,
I see a semi-circle of teeth

The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes
For me, I'm your sorrow
Calling in your dreams
For me, I'm your shadow
Howling in the streets