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Off The Map Under The Sun
by
Fall Of The Leafe
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It rains on and off while air is so thick and nervous As if someone was spying a distance away and waiting for something to begin Begin or end But where the hell are they going? With empty string bags As they hurry like phantoms with their way among the living lost Just sun-white bones on the streets It's a distance away The smallest imaginable flicker A sign of hope While confusion seems to come along with the raind and the sun A call for the lost On the streets but en route to nowhere But then again, do you need to, if you're but a sun-white bone And hung out like a bear skin to dry
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