Seven - Ghostlimb

November screams outloud «the seventh, the seventh»

And ohio’s burial shroud binds up the desert

November screams outloud «the seventh, the seventh»

And ohio’s burial shroud shadows the crescent

But what is hopeful?

what is hopeless?

When the needs of the populus

Become politics

November screams in chorus line

To deadlocked votes and wasted time

There is no them, there is no us

Just tow the party line

And the dream

Drags on in rust