I haven't slept for days now, and if that's not enough, I still wlak around in dreams, covered by these streets have silent voices and I'm fading like a picture to the past. In these ghosts, I believe, won't picture this city fractured in light glass. Not another dusty vision, an empty vessel. And will they look embittered now that I can't stay and rolling eyes annoyed as I blindly say "I used to have a life here" and no one has to die here with nothing to take with them. I'm flyinf out by Lincoln Hill, broken hearts beat still. Some stories never end, they just get told again with different pictures. The people here don't cry, they just roll their eyes and whisper to dead friends they never really made amends to. The spaces haunt you. Remember everything you did to gain one inch of ground. Let them know we tried everything, we couldn't save this victimless faith.