Pinus sylvestris guards the road.
I carry the watchman's heavy load.
Copper wires hum on wooden poles.
I track the night through the forest holes.
Cold beam logic in the black.
Cutting lines on a dirt track.
Silver glare on the needles thin.
Where the industrial ghosts begin.
The soil is damp and smelling deep.
While the dormant seedlings start to sleep.
I scan the fence for a broken wire.
My glass lens burns like a frozen fire.
Cold beam logic in the black.
Cutting lines on a dirt track.
Silver glare on the needles thin.
Where the industrial ghosts begin.
Acid rain on a metal casing.
Every shadow I am out here chasing.
Lichen grows on the telephone base.
I map the grid of this lonely place.
Cold beam logic in the black.
Cutting lines on a dirt track.
Silver glare on the needles thin.
Where the industrial ghosts begin.
Deadpan pulse in a steady beat.
Concrete heat on the asphalt street.
Wait for the click and the sudden flash.
Turning the midnight into a crash.
Root systems hold the heavy clay.
I wait for the coming of the gray.
A plastic grip and a steady hand.
Scanning the waste of the border land.
Cold beam logic in the black.
Cutting lines on a dirt track.
Silver glare on the needles thin.
Where the industrial ghosts begin.
Click. The light fades to gray.
Wait for another day.
