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Weatherbox
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The Last White Lighter
You wake in a home.
You assume it is your own.
A hazy head, but a comfy bed.
Nothing seems wrong.
You make moans.
You put your trousers on.
You walk the path, you do the math,
wonder where the time's gone.
You forget to care.
New faces everywhere.
I watch you fact-check, try to recollect.
There's nothing there.
I kick the earth.
I shake and cry and curse.
It's my fault now,
I sold you out.
I'm the last White Lighter.
No? No!
Got the book bound,
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encoded sound,
in the Dead House,
I won't let you down.
Down with their trash!
Up with our flag!
I got you back.
You draw your first new map.
Me and you and our four dimensions,
drifting through the space-time continuum.
Glad to be here with you, my friend.
Follow me into oblivion!
And we know there's big and bad things waiting for us.
At least we're no longer lost, we have the compass.
We are flags dancing now.
Hoist us up.
Safe in the clouds,
we are the White Lighters.
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