Deer in the night run on clipped lawns
Deer in the morning dead by the road
Flies are all humming death does become them
Flies are all happy they never know famine
Houses alike in circles and rows
Named for the lost woods, places afar
People inside them crowded and lonely
Dreams gently dying together alone
The cars they go one way, cars they come back
Everyday but sunday and sometimes they crash
Waning moon rise stars barely seen
They city's greath filth bright towers gleaming
Quiet is hiding from sirens and shrieks
But loves the good music in spaces between
Bats a dark cloud dance the dusk sky
From under the bridge all along the lakeside
Seeing with sound, hunting with song
Never colliding or killing their own
The cars they go one way, cars they come back
Everyday but sunday and sometimes they crash