Green September. . Burned to October brown. . Bare November. . Led to December's frozen ground. . The seasons stumbled round. . Our drifting lives are bound. . To a falling crescent noon
wanted to be. Was floating in the emerald sky. Our skeletons remain under a neon noon. . Hands turn to dust, psychic waves fill the air. All what we have is what we've done to what we had. . Never
