The white stripes sleep inviolably.
No nuclear shock through indolent steel.

A few dozen miles to rest,
covering the stones with temptation of emptiness.

Oxygen echoes in the broken frame.
Someone’s gotta do the cold game.

I am outside.
I am outside.

Left alone.

Conviction’s lost, when the tests will end.
Question of withered investment.

Dazed eyes taste bitter truth of desease;
scarred mirrors excavate old fairytales to freeze.

Inertia rages, beyond the lung.
No recollection when last of the lights had begun.

I am alone.
I am lonely.

Left behind.

Numb honour to perceive stillness under the dome.
Someone’s got protection from the wolves coming home.