She was a trace quick
Sketch of something drawn out by heaven
Walls stood over and above us though
Through time and through strife
Out of control like the heavens
Destiny has made twisted cries
Not knowing what to make from scowling scrawls
Written across each other’s expressions.
I wish I could tell her more, but she made up her mind
Time is a wicked cry sporadic and split
Making people into monstrous masks it seems.
Not fleeing from siren red nights
Feeling cool winds strike like scars
Black nights stretchy with fickle moons
A lasting image now forever lost
Riding crowds on busted backs
Beautifully innocent
Krylon villain with low communication skills
Age stamped on her face like every word on a wall
Beaten, battered, banished in cloudy cool world
With blundering bullets, North Hollywood skies.
