Overhead or buried, they are unseen, still proceed.
Who knows where the lights will come on?
What will we find at home?
//
And safer than Grandma's kitchen, more perfect than Grandad's cave, the destination I've pondered, in daydreams, I've wondered, will I get to give those "I'm glad to see you again" hugs.
//
In the meantime, the old feel, like Mama's Family, is hidden with the last of us, before the death of family on many levels
Maybe I would have gone out a few more nights if I knew how dead these neighborhoods would be, how strange these modern old streets are mean
How these overhead and buried live wires seem all dead *pauses to cry* they all seem dead.
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