Lately I've been dreaming of the end of the world,
of the time when everything stops...

Under yellowed streetlights and the last vestiges...
there is little thought...

Black, silver, white,
moonlight...

"Tired" is no excuse
except perhaps not to play the frivolous...

I'm going to try to describe
that feeling that I said...

They never feel that they can be early,
that motivation can call to them...

Author's Note: One really must read this poem out...
The wind rushes in swirling spirals...

Just go
leave me here...

This is life?
This is crazy...

The words slip and tumble down the gritty desert...
They escape the furnace's jaws and float through...

Glistening dewdrops
Distort the golden yellow...

The jig is up; you've had your fun
The game is over; your enemy has won...