I rented a camera and a van and then I called you.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that I like The Postal Service more than Death Cab for Cutie.

Written by me on the sixteenth of December, 2010.

"Shorthand"

'A secret handshake.
The lights all burned out.
Shadowed silhouettes grace concrete.

Bombs blew the buildings down,
and tanks ravaged the streets.
Panic bunkers soared to the thousands.

A mouth trembles.
Giving illegal law.
We're all frauds, it's eminent.

His face is a pleading one.
A front sucking away at your humanity.
Your freedom.

Hands latched together.
Symbolic defiance.
Outlawed love.

What a silly thought.
Rights to mind? Love? Freedom?
Madness. Insanity.

Two unstable beings.
Caught in the act.
Kicked into the van.

Be gone.

You do not belong to you.
Your conscience is ours.
You'll never have existed.

Your skin will peel.
Your emotion in a pill shaped form.
The one you want, dead.

You'll embrace a skeleton.
Echoes of the beginning.
Oh, how your heart corrodes.'