Midnight Rivers

I was born under the mad moon of September, then i was raised by a bunch of deers that gave me a crunchy spirit, they don’t know what death is, so i tried to relocate this life to the mechanical side of the country where many men work until they die and many women drink until they fade.

I was a deer looking for a shotgun in a town full of cowards, they saw me as a wild thing, I wasn’t wild, i was shamefully tamed and surrendered to the good manners and a terrible midnight job,

When i was lonely at work, i used to stare at people from this three storey office, long windows and short people, walking inside this wild place, mad house, delivered into the busy death.

I am not a deer, maybe they are looking in the wrong direction, every night i look into this midnight river hoping that this never dries out, fluorescent tube lights, sky made out of tinted glass, headaches due to a pair of horns, i am sitting in a tall desk waiting for the next September.