The word senseless has lost it’s meaning
Lost its sense
Art and apple tarts
The American dream
Fame and little league
Fire arms and feet
Rest together on the floor.
But nobody waits anymore,
All we do is go, go, fly.
Catch a whim or ache or delusion of grandeur
And we don’t fly, we crash
And burn the city to the ground.

All the arms on fire wave above bloody heads,
Until nothing—nothing is left.
And that’s when we realize it is not the end.
It is only the start.