November Has Come, heavy with smoke and missing faces,
down by the Enchanted Waterfall
I watch the years break apart like soft bread.

Three Little Birds shiver in the branches,
singing songs no one listens to anymore.

I’m Married to the Game, I tell myself,
but the game left me with Street Dreams,
cold hands in empty pockets.

You Rock My World, someone once said
I think about it sometimes, walking down the block
while Johnny P’s Caddy idles by the curb,
headlights blinking like it’s too tired to go home.

There are Skeletons living in my dresser drawers,
wearing old T-shirts and broken bracelets,
telling Poe Man’s Dreams in their sleep.

Some nights the quiet is too loud to bear,
So put your headphones on