On the Streets

On the streets
a thousand different people gathering like cattle
circling and blotting-out the day;
the sun burns bright, but illumines only the shadows
of cattle mercifully standing in the way.
The sky bleeds embers of crimson
and these cattle march forward with nothing left to say--
they turn, and turn, and turn again
with lullabies blanketed in yesterday.

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
(Down)

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
(Down)

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!
We all tumble down.

Today
a thousand other people will gather like cattle
on a thousand other blotted streets;
herded and collected in an abattoir of pistols
marching aimlessly to the drumbeat
of their own defeat.
In the corner, a woman withers away
like a dusty rose pining for her own bouquet--
but she turns, and turns, and turns again
with lullabies blanketed in old hear-say.

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
(Down)

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
(Down)

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!
We all tumble down.

Tomorrow
a thousand more people will gather like cattle
on a thousand more blotted streets;
polluting the violent voices of mute tongues tangled
in this twisted tango of sleep.
The sky will rain embers of crimson,
and we cattle flood tears of deafened sheep.
Never mind our voices, our daydreams,
our wishes-- we're all play-things
blanketed in our own deceit.