My songs are just weightless luxuries

From the crater-pocked ground,

Flying high and hollow

On a perfumed breeze

–

I’m drunk on sweet-nothings

Two seconds from midnight

So shameless and sunken

In a paradise’s run off

–

A new troop is on the march

And I have dulled my conscience

My outrage, my ire

Fall with hymns of revolt

–

A new guard is on patrol

And all I conjure are mountains,

Rivers and valleys

For my ghosts to call home