I keep peeping in your window, but I only see ghosts.
I guess the demons of today have forgotten you.
There’s money to be made and fresh people to fuck over,
And you must be ill-suited for those pursuits.
You’re a pretty old shell, decorated and vacant—
That describes most of us at the moment.
Maybe one day we’ll think about you again:
Give your interior some honor and purpose.
We’d have to do the same for ourselves, though,
And I’m not holding my breath on that front.
In the meantime, thanks for the somber show.