The sea is far, far from this golden plain, but death is right outside my window.
Cleaning my AR-15 as the screaming music can’t quite drown out the undead.
The violent music brings peace, and those girls on see remind me of the light.
This one attic room, up in the tall old Victorian mansion, left for the undead,
the undead and those left to watch the world rot away, all we made ruined.
This one attic room, I’ve made a light in the dark, a place my own after all is lost.
I still dream here, even as the demons have won, and are laughing in heaven.
My little world will go dark, and what little I have left, music and vision and my words,
will be gone, unless we somehow beging again, on down the road, on down the line.
A girl surfs a blue and perfect wave. I remember, youth, freedom and fullness of hope.