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Nobody knew if he was sleeping or dead. He just lay there on the ground, hands over his head. They couldn’t figure out if there was something wrong so they drank up their smoothies and moved on.
She wore a red skirt, a scarf around her neck, and she waiting beside him hoping for the best. Mud on her face, flowers in her hair, she saw the comings and the goings of the people of the fayre. It’s a long walk home, farther than the long walk away.
Baby I was wrong to have brought you all this way. This is not your war, it was not my place. There’s a devil inside me, goading me on. He whispers, “Day is night. Right is wrong.” It’s a long walk home, farther than the long walk away.