It\'s looking like another one of those nights.
Fresh from the hearth of a maelstrom\'s order and repugnancy.
I grab my things, walk out the door,
And pass by all the things that welcome me.
About a corner of the way, a man, homeless,
Is sitting inside of a bus stop one by one.
The cardboard he carries with him is soaked by harsh and gentle rain,
But I keep going all the same.
Further down the pedway, the streetlamps glisten in contrast to the unknowingly clouded skies.
The air I breath in that moment is colder than all the others, but it is of no alarm.
I bask in their beauty whilst I glide;
Light upon my face and darkness in my mind.
A little later, right to the edge of the corner I call my own,
Sirens are firing off, and the authorities are geared to contain.
Turns out the Freemen are throwing fire again,
And riot shields are enforced to stop them.
\"Oh well\" I remark.
Nothing to do with me, so I shrug.
This path I tread has always been walked alone,
And it\'ll stay that way, until I make it home.