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
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