Maybe ya never
heard a' the band
or read the book

(we flew 8,000 miles
to feel the disease
let the sands grind us down

makeshift pyramids
with lovers on the steps
(they made us stop throwing flowers
over the newborn
the reborn
and the dead
(they said it was too
hard to clean
up)
We burned with the
pyres all the way to tomorrow)
rivers running backwards
nobody looked at their watches
we chugged midnight chai)

from tiny dirty glasses
If we have spirits
(mine is there)