A persona to at long last admire
And impress little children with my frightfulness
As they continue on their anonymous
Assembly line for same-taste candy
In the rain and purple haze machines
That sell the skeletons of what I used to be,
Before the vieja senora locked the gate,
No more noches de las muertos
Like the old days, but they are sad not golden,
How the only thing we can hold on to
To understand it, is the end.
I tried to explain using my words
But they failed, and the listening
Brought tears, though the reasons why
Were as silent as the rain
In the ghost moans and fire truck megaphones
That brought the holidays officially back
To the placid su casas that have withstood
Another year of change, as a neighborhood,
What time requires on such immortals.
And they can go on never understanding
Why we have to go, for in never understanding
Who we were, perhaps they will
And so they'll make amends
With choices made in ignorance
And consequences that seem unfair
Despite it all, even now.
So it's one more masque of Edgar's death,
One last piano left of an enmeshment
Older than our lives could ever reveal,
One last chance for the spirits not to care
What we do in the night, how we drink
Eyeballs in dry ice fields, and never learn
To translate the sound love makes
Through laughter that rolls across the veil.
