I've no skill with a brush,
But maybe words can conjour a scene,
There were clouds made of white,
Overtop of a grass made of green,
And the wide of the sky,
Dragged a weight across my eyes,
Blurred the edges,
Poked holes in the screen,
And the white and the green dissolved,
In a sort of a dream:
There were millions of cars,
Stalled out in the rain,
Faces blank and they cannot explain,
What they're doing,
And where they're going in the night,
Now they're on the TV,
Calling on your phone,
Lock the kids up,
Won't leave you alone,
Till the heartwood's rotted through,
There were millions of cars,
Stalled out in the rain,
Where they're going they cannot explain,
Staring out in the great black hole of the night,
And a millions of motors screamed out to be quiet.

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN