microphone head

Quiet corners
In between shapes
Mister capes
Frost bitten fingers
Why you leave me
In the cold
An empty box
Of lost thoughts
Microphone head
We hear their words
We call them dead
yet their well fed
Microphone head
with all your noise
I had no choice
but eat dreams of
young boys
Microphone head
I quiver and shake
For worlds to wake
this forgotten pit
I am simply
true to it
This tangoed dilemma
That conjures when
I sit