Rusting pipes drip filthy water onto the cold concrete floor.
The world isn't ending,
it hasn't even begun yet.
Each trip sends a tremor down my spine,
Where am I?
What hell is this?
The clouds above hold saintly presence above us.
Heaven is looking down,
and we are looking up.
I am walking around in a dream,
Yet wide awake?
So damn awake.
While the rust breaks the pipes and the clouds shelter the people
and heaven is watching and the world is ending
and we are straining our necks watching
and i am walking around,
i am tripping in and out of our world and theirs,
and theirs isn't much worse.