All these lives they walk the line br of crystal rose and china fine br and when the bells begin to ring br they kneel before their 12 ounce king br risen for whatever heist br when the itch has been crushed and sliced br leaving designs upon the passageways br ready and waiting up for days br nothing's important and nothing's a crime br when counting the grams of the sands of time br their bodies are tired and minds are shot br waiting for one of them to get caught br not a one knows what to do br or from right or wrong, false or true br their personalities are becoming cranky br as their fingertips are numb and shaky br their eyes are sinking far back in their head br each one resembling the walking dead br none of them will ever be stopped br until the last rail has been chopped br and there is no more to be bought br or until their brains start to rotbr br Bridget Bushbr br