When they go away
The days are not days
And the nights are voids
To be crossed on sloops of scotch
Each awakening surreal
Until the first breath
Reminds the soul that
It has been dragged
From red to gray
Along the pavement
The injury is permanent
And the world moves without its magic
It has never been clearer
This place is not a home
It is a hostile hostel
For youthful spirits
With nowhere else to go