Faith quietly follows you
Like the words I spoke on Bird's Eye View
You practice your gifts, between shifts
The furnace burning in your chest
In a century old tenement
The spirits haunt every stroke of the pen.
You call me late.
I pace the floor 'til the day is done
Where have all the adventurers gone?
I guess you and I are the only ones.
List of lists, repeating wishes
In your head, infinite.
Florescent fumes, curling lips
I'm desperate for a passing glance.
Sorting through my documents
To find my worth
There isn't any.
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