.

The beasts without prowl the perimeter

While the beast within shuffles the facade

Layering coats of excess pasts

In bright pastel colors

That blight the boulevards

No "fake it 'til you make it"

In the here and now

The only currency that counts

Is where, when, and how

You drop that last dollar

And owe your self-righteous soul

To the company store...

That owned you from the beginning

Prepare for a hard winter

The season of grace is over...

You'll find yourself in a hard race

To pick up a piece of coal

Warm your hands over an open fire

Before the chill winds subside

When you can finally realize

In a state dazed and confused

That the spring has come again.....