Thunderbirds

stashed inside are a million men
a million songs...stories and ends
memories..all gasping for air
stifling inside, crumpled in a corner
inside the trunk, which has lost its key
the ghosts are rattling

haunting for attention
they now command the crossroads
appearing unexpectedly
excruciatingly they gaze
upon all that is "now" and
all that is soon to be...

I lull myself to sleep
swimming in tears,wet with dismay
they beg to forget, to be forgotten
the death of a memory..

i wish for them to be revived
but thunderbirds dont sing that song anymore..