It’s the sound of fans, the heat has become a mist. Now we wake up, we want to see you because we can never see your face. It’s you, your name is everywhere making everything ugly. Why do you draw for us? Why show us the pretty towns? or some asymmetrical houses? Torture us! This is the world we will never live in.
It’s the sounds of planes, where our dreams flew with tails and pretty female legs in shades of burgundy red. You are posted everywhere, in shades of indigo blue we toast to our hopes, but the longest and sunniest days became a swindle.
You wrote your name everywhere so you didn’t have to show your face, love us or be here. It’s the smell of paint here, to replace you.