A Night Out for the Noise

Curfew's on the prowl
A beat constable silencing all
Stung by the loss of echoes
Cry the strunged out howls
Trains of expressions
Ground to a halt
In the barren bad lands
There are no No Smoking signs
Kid yourself with that makeup and design
The engine is going on a strike
Puffing out
Just before an encore
Keema paoed
Once more

The Played

Names dropping everywhere
Inflicted with adjectivitis
Chunks in the mouthful of vomit
Fragranced and packaged
Spitted out

Nailed to the boxes
Pushed to the corner
The active works on its principle
To bury the passive alive

Beneath the pile of boxes
A grave without an owner
The question holds a silent prayer
Invisible to the players