Shadowlight

On display

Hiding handfuls

Of treasured grey

Shadowgraph

On the screen

A simple outline

A darkening

In this gown I am cold

The floor is sticky I'm feeling old

When are the people coming?

What in the hell is coming?

When are the people coming?

What in the hell is drumming?

Is my hope displaced?

Ready to escape?

A sense of ending, a sense of fear

I put on my opera cloak

My fateful cheer

An explanation, a set of rules

Requiring attention

But my head's left the room

I hear their words

Their kind solution

But it's a starting gun saying

Run run run