04-22-2014, 06:59 AM
It's probably silly to try to catch up at this point. Here goes though:
Redshirts
There is no life
insurance for those in red.
draped in the color of blood.
Walking lodestones,
we draw shrapnel from the blue
sky. Though the heat may burn orange,
it blossoms within our chests.
We are dowsing rods to child gods,
and rogue androids.
We are only last names.
Redshirts
There is no life
insurance for those in red.
draped in the color of blood.
Walking lodestones,
we draw shrapnel from the blue
sky. Though the heat may burn orange,
it blossoms within our chests.
We are dowsing rods to child gods,
and rogue androids.
We are only last names.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson