I broke upon the surface
From deep inside the ground
History fades
When there is no one
There is a fear of silence
That we try to fill with sounds
The machine of morning
Creaks and groans to life
Time is a shove in the back
When you least expect it
Forcing you to stumble forward
Or race relentlessly
Toward that obsessive thing
At the end of July
Everything moves
In slow motion
And the heavy haze
Of a blurry morning
Evaporates into
Everyone dreams.
Some get lost or washed away
As the year fades
And our future slips