Artie

The letters says we're done, you don’t need a sunset, our ashes blown and gone, give this place its due, it’ll take any bet, won’t wait for thank yous, fire and distant thunder, traps have all been set, the gold stretches between us, my tongue is parchment glue, a seal on every debt, I walk along the avenue, don't know where I’m from, tired of cigarettes, the muse at my shoulder, says what isn’t true the houses that we’ve left, squabbling over what to do, it’s how our world crumbles, the rooms that we rent, on each night a number, signs that twist me yet?