Our voices ring in empty vaults.
It is dark, so dark, but echoes flickers flashes hints
what it is and what used to be all of a piece. A little of that old time rock & roll, that
old time religion, that old center of gravity seeking snake oil, sex, and shine.
I'd rather have jazz, have you ever felt the blues, every time I hear that techno-pop.
They all overlap until it's silence and the only song is the
tap, tap, tap of our soles.