when i come back to life ill find you push my thumbs into your eyes and blind you and when you hear your name called out across a crowded street youll think of me and swear the ground was stolen from your feet in the old apartment or the place beneath the stairs reaching for a groping palm or vacant stares call the cops or call one of your well meaning friends time will see them scatter off to fight what they defend if you die tomorrow or a hundred years from now there wont be an article or a furrowed brow yours is like the spirit of the breeze that blows through town no one remembers unless it knocks something down