THE YELLOW LEAF HAS FALLEN

It's been days you've been walking.
The kid that you've trusted will trap you from inside.

They are coming. Three hours. The yellow leaf has fallen.

You'd better hide in the basements, because Trevor and his friends won't leave anything.
They are going to whirl around, to pull the soul out from the nerves, from the feet.

Just relax. Four days. Your skin is pale.
Digestive enzymes are released through the body and smelly gases escaping from cavities.

And they are back to work, taking the light up from the chest, then the throat.
This time there won't have any lorry-driver to get you out of the rubble.

Would you mary moisture?
Would you ever kiss crawling worms?
Would you ever ride maggots?

A wet well-cut grass, all around, is shivering under each one of your footsteps.
The dying star has never shone so bright through the white clouds before.

Will you be the bark, to heal from the disease?
Will you be the ice, keeping the meat alive?
What will you want to be, next?

Don't worry, Old Misery.
From your scars, new roots will grow.
The stones are now your new house they can destroy again and again.