Away.

Predictions for cemented futures;
The film always rolling,
my head rolling, off-off-off
away.

Macbeth's advisers always stopping by,
papers to sign or things to see.

I just read through the hours, flying in time,
breathing the pages' air and life.

Gentle river's song and that American neon glow-
Bz, bzz, bzzz the colors declare to photography of the era.

Historians trip over the cemetery of unborn thoughts
in the young, decayed, eaten minds of the youth,
in their words.