The towers, behind me...
gold.. glass, and light
The city, a beacon...
in a fabricated night.
But the air there is hollow...
the Glow is cold.. and thin.
It doesn't recognize...
the weight of real skin.
So I’m walking the border...
I’m following the rust.
Turning my back...
On the rendered dust.
They call it The Hallow...
The place where the ghost
Of the old, jagged world...
Remains as our host.
It’s a gap in the signal...
A tear in the sky.
Where the Glow cannot script...
The "how", or the "why."
I’m looking for sanctuary...
The stone and the weed.
Where the only thing growing...
Is a physical need.
I’m walking the Long Shadow...
Out of the glare.
Finding the silence...
That's waiting out there.
It isn't a setting...
It isn't a cage.
It’s the un-written white...
At the edge of the page.
Trade the "Perfect" for the "True"... Trade the "Ever" for the "Now."
I’m heading for the Shadow...
And I don't care how!
One foot in the dirt..
One foot in the cold.
Leaving the silver...
For the rust and the old.
Step after step...
The sting in the breath.
The life that begins...
In the Glow’s final death.
