Finally, something else is done. It’s not singing, and I apologize for that. I just needed to get something up.
Please also excuse the non-polished aspect of it. It was intended to be that way, and it does also fade in and out. It’s supposed to be reminiscent of an old recording.
The music was also intended to be louder than the speaking as it was in the original piece, but I also wanted to be heard.
So here you go!
We held hands on the last night of our bubble. Our mouths filled with dust, we kissed in the fields and under trees, screamin pike dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves. It was empty on the edge of town but we knew everyone floated along the cracks in the sky. So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay, and the bitter smell of burning was on ya pike a disease. In our cancer of passion ya said, “Death is a midnight runner.”
The sky had come crashing down pike the news of an intimate suicide. We picked up the shards and foamed them into shapes of stars that wore pike an antique godtier hood. The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop. The few grubs skittered away in hopes of a beta pastime. I kissed ya at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if ya would accompany me in a quick fall, but ya made me realize that my ticket wasn’t good for tuna.
I rode alone.
Ya said, “The cinders are falling like snow.” There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence. Of Tyrian and grey. Strange, we ran drown desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city. The sun has stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines. Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward, and somewhere in the middle in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the sky pike a message.
-Edited from AFI’s The Spoken Word