#821 - lost people

 

4.iv.22

821

3.94

lost people

 

make their own desert

often see themselves

 

won’t know when the road has gone

but take the cheaper shot

 

have vacuumed up the life

these leavings

 

no one understands

another

 

off for a wander

now no way home

 

vine to go

here’s whole land sings

 

we lead them

on a glorious march

 

guess the warp from weft

it’s the tiniest death

 

the lost people die

travel on the other side

 

who would know

that they were here?

 

who’ll know

now that we’ve gone?