city with no children

the summer that i broke my arm, i waited for your letter. i have no feeling for you now, now that i know you better. i wish that i could have loved you then, before our age was through, and before a world war does with us whatever it will do.

dreamt i drove home to houston on a highway that was underground. there was no light that we could see as we listened to the sound of the engine failing. i feel like i've been living in a city with no children in it - a garden left for ruin by a millionaire inside of a private prison.

you never trust a millionaire quoting the sermon on the mount. i used to think i was not like them, but i'm beginning to have my doubts. when you're hiding underground, the rain can't get you wet. do you think your righteousness can pay the interest on your debt? i have my doubts about it.

i feel like i've been living in a city with no children in it - a garden left for ruin by and by as i hide inside of my private prison.