Spiked and roasted,
Left outside to dry,
Its wings are dated
And hazel’s the sky.
We have no figures,
No future this time.
My side is the greenest
As I hide it inside.
I have no memory
Of this place or of rust,
My beacon’s all weary
With signs of distrust.
Chirp goes the silent,
Outside goes the mind.
Your soul is soylent,
Your secrets behind.