13 hundred black birds pecking at my brain,
seeking anything but finding nothing,
Lost red rags in the shape of roses drift,
aimless like wood on water, over dark,
12 million dollars, spent and lost,
in search of something past and gone,
Once found, but now fled from the arms,
of those that sought too hard.
11 billion minds, working all together,
as one. Directing no one every this where.
10 dots. 9 pixels. 8 horsemen.
7 deaths, lost in the sky, to the stars we go.
6 trees, standing old guardians to the last gate.
5 keys, each for one child, lost between the eyes of
4 god, sent from afar to watch over the
3 lost ones, so that they wander not too far.
2 is the number that is sacred, kept only by
1, who counts the stars in their all lasting infinity.