Broken by the vultures on a desiccating line,
that slithered from Missing, on a road without the signs.
A motion for a moment caught the never-watching eyes.
They haven't seen Missing and no one heard the cries.
A shape begins to form over the rising of the vapor.
The one who takes life's missing and cuts them with a razor.
The apathetic townsfolk in this god-forbidden place,
refuse to sieze the moment and check Missing for a face.
As night begins to burn the shadows into open skies,
a light begins to scrape them off the ground where Missing lies.
It shined down on a missing face that's pasted on the windows.
A mark was from a razor and there's feathers from the pillows.
They've taken and emblazoned them and shapes begin to clear.
The shape that's in the vapor has a face that's full of fear.
Missing has been found but it has always been too late,
for anyone like Missing doesn't have the time to wait.