The red strand of your hair.
The sound, pound for pound of your innocence escaping you.

Exposed to the town, a witness in your nightgown.
Shaping what you inevitably will forget.
You’ve seen the bottle, the rope and the boredom.
You’ve made it this far to cope.

Come to the city to take your thoughts and sort them.
As that noise curdles your blood down to the spinal cortex.
It is what you recall, which will protect your purity after all.

Remember what you believe.
The focused memories you have retrieved.
Deny your ghosts and come with me.
Your soul will always remain on the other side of the border line.