The night sky isn't black, it's a milky gray. And it seems half the stars have faded away. Soles don't walk on the land. Hands touch nothing real. Cold hard steel.
Horses live in boxes locked away and bound, turning nervous circles.
Cattle won't be found. Half my life, this city. Takes you twenty years. One Hundred Percent Certified. What I want to know is how they know After they've peeled the hide.