So this is where the Others hang out,

The homeless, the avoiders,

A secret social welfare culture, hanging,

their own late night broadcast of freaks

Under the florescent light of the moon

People cackling into the dark,

Drunk fishermen singing in the darkness,

With the crash of the waves as white noise,

An indie station that no one will find

But existing in the gradient against time’s lonely passage anyway, a last resort.

Another night in the Hotel Always,

What will she wear there in the dark anyway? What will your imagination put on the desperate ladies?

Another night of

All us us together in the same idea of where to go alone when the sun goes down when you’re not wanted anymore

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