without control we careen
down hills slicked with oil
spouting from the mouths of dying whales
as they give their death cries
and i drive off the road and into the pit
in a dark room saints wander around
arms outstretched and eyes closed
and they moan about their health
and they wish they could sit
without being trampled
by the feet of barbarian hordes
as they sit outside the gate
and sound their horns
and stomp their feet
and they are in the city!
and they are setting it ablaze
as the king flees
his crown falls to the ground
he turns to retrieve it
but his fear sends him onward
where he finds new hope
with a new army
and takes back his home
but real life doesn't happen like that
real life happens all the time
like when I met you
and my heart stopped
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