Killjoys Poem

The world is a clock

The road; a ribbon

And those guns shall be cocked

And those engines; ridden

In a place where the sun dips behind the sandy hills

And where even darkness can distract your soul

Where there are angels made from neon and the stuff from landfills

And where just a drop of love can make you lose control

There is no hope anymore; no salvation

Stories, legends, beliefs--but no truth

And as things start to fall apart by their foundation

And as things take a deadly turn, by the minds of the youth

The only hope for you now is gunning

And maybe a bit of pure cunning

Just promise me one thing, and I'll leave you to your heart's drumming

Just promise me, friend, that you'll keep on running.