There is a white boulevard
who screams 'hold me close'
whenever I walk through it
There are people behind windows
with endless sad ghostly faces
whoever can see them standing there
It’s a motionless weeping
that will never splash into this world,
such as those grooved painting’s tears
And just so needless are the drums
that pound on the deaf man’s ears
These are the empty white streets
which the heavens cover with snow in July,
but why does it melt away so swiftly
These are the abandoned cars,
the American classics still left rumbling
wherever they once lightened up the roads
Now I'm lost and
found nothing I ever looked for
that could possibly prove my existence
Brick houses and deserted playgrounds,
countless avenues, bending street signs
all within touching distance
Yet all I can reach are
my own thoughts buzzing off and
romancing the darkest of places,
kissing the blackest vast spaces
somewhere between one of those dying stars...