Rain is falling on the fields.
We shield ourselves in acid metal pop.
But there’s green all around us,
and it never gives up.
Harmony grows and ebbs,
like it was meant to,
all around us,
now it’s bent too.
Ghosts in the meadows,
ephemeral in their gaze,
they hang around,
waiting for love to equate,
their state.
There’s a drum beat,
slow, and dumb,
keeping the time,
almost silently.
And the guitar strings,
they sing melodically,
in chords and tabs written,
in heaven and forgotten,
as some silly hooks.
We burn books in our minds,
but keep them on our shelves,
so that we can revisit them,
when we need a piece of hell.
We fight and laugh,
and fall in love blessed,
almost every time,
we meet again.