The Roadside Dance

On the streets, dancing to a chilling beat,
confetti rains down, spoiling her grief,
the misery of his wife, cloaked in disguise,
out of luck, out of favor, a soul that dies.

Falling down to air-conditioned dreams,
under an earthly sun that no longer gleams.
Having your fun while horizons blur,
a poverty of being that we all incur.

Victim of time, victim of fate,
tell me, my friend, when did it get so late?
The clock keeps ticking, the hands move fast—
are we victims of the future or haunted by the past?

Let it be known, beneath the low lights,
in destinations misplaced on hazy nights,
I search for home, a brake on the roadside,
concrete highways where lost hearts collide.

Who wants to be a victim? Who dares to trust?
Losing ourselves in the ashes and dust.
But let me be a victim of your embrace,
a willing surrender in love’s endless chase.

Let the sun catch me in my freak wonder,
chemistry of thoughts pulling me under.
Get-well cards sent to a heart on fire,
riding straight to the edge of desire.

Roaming through the dragging music’s call,
lost in moments I cannot recall.
Catching the fragments, storing the pain,
hollowed out memories like drops of rain.

Send a search for the victims we've become,
timing the heartbeat of where we’re from.
For we are all victims of self-made lies,
longing for love beneath the starless skies.

Let’s break free, my fellow misfit,
embrace the chaos, never submit.
For in this world of misplaced destinations,
let’s be victims of our own creations.