What began as a way to pass the time
soon became the time I got lost
inside the city’s blanket of haze.
What was supposed to be mundane
soon became the time I got lost
inside the neon light of the street.
What was supposed to be mundane?
I could only point, not speak
inside the neon light of the street.
The passersby were specters.
I could only point, not speak
into the mist of roasted chestnuts.
The passersby were specters
and children all but disappeared
into the mist of roasted chestnuts.
The road signs pointed upside down
and children all but disappeared
through spokes of the Ferris wheel.
The road signs pointed upside down.
An old man sang to the caged bird
through spokes of the Ferris wheel.
I couldn’t understand a word.
An old man sang to the caged bird
and the bird repeated the song it heard.
I couldn’t understand a word
inside the city’s blanket of haze.
And the bird repeated the song it heard:
what began as a way to pass the time…
