a city cloaked in orange, glowing, heavy clouds
|
all the belches of indigestion
|
weigh heavy all around
|
a small car buzzing down a wide road
|
drifting out of bounds
|
out to a place where the noises of light
|
make a distant tiny sound
|
|
|
when out come the stars
|
pinholes of light in a moth eaten blanket held over the night
|
|
|
tuning out the engine, tuning out the song
|
get there but I don't know how
|
and why it took this long
|
I need something to burrow through my weeds
|
and blast me from the sand
|
to open up the new twilight
|
open up the can and
|
|
|
out come the stars
|
pinholes of light in a moth eaten blanket held over the night
|
out come the stars
|
targets for wishes and satellite dishes reflecting their light
|
|
|
and they're so far away it can't be fathomed
|
an elephant made of all these atoms
|
nature is patient with its jailers
|
like brothels will humour all those sailors
|
|
|
awestruck dumb and silent, consumed by all that's vast
|
it's a comfort to know that you're not in control
|
of anything but your past when
|
|
|
out come the stars
|
pinholes of light in a moth eaten blanket held over the night
|
out come the stars
|
targets for wishes and satellite dishes in astronaut white
|
|
-----------------
|
Out Come Stars
|
| The Odds |
