Lost Days

Neon clock fingers dispelling the last visage of the day In Hackettstown empty their night people Fulfilling socerrs with braided smiles Paint peeling only attracts rats Blowing newspapers Gate Keepers on suspension Sadness in crystal paws The Gangsters worship the night where the pipers aren't paid Their tunes ran cold Dead hollow dreams turn deserved grey These established doubts express the final days retrieving their last days