Emperors, Gods

We were children then, strewn out like sewn seeds
In an old truck bed. Waiting for the sun to set, the night
To come. With pockets full of our parent's money we'd
Go to buy magic cards and black coffee. We'd stay up
All night, laugh and fight. Then we'd ride our bikes
Down Biddle avenue until the suburbs fell into Detroit.

Now we're old I guess; we get together less. There
Are jobs to work, people to impress. Lives to grow,
Responsibilities to address. But we're still more than
Less, friends I guess. We talk online, and we get
Together sometimes to drink expensive beer and
Compare how things went this year.

I remember walking through the city in the snow.
Streetlight white on slick dark streets. We were full of
Pills, to keep away the world. Gods of broken
Streets and shitty clubs. To alive to speak, to fucked
Up to see the end of our divinity. Pantheon's fall,
From the building tops even gods seem small.

It's been years since those divine nights. Nothing
But men again who talk, half remembering what
Once had been. We're hollow now, more so than
Before. Because remembering is escaping the
Fear of living more. It was an angel's kiss, the
Future's eclipse. Nothing we can follow anymore.

So when the end is near, I'll hold to old tales like
A broken spear. Useless in the face of death, but
Something solid in my hands. Some sign I lived
When we were kids, cause as adults we just quit.
There's nothing left but this fear of death, and the
Thought that once, we were emperors and friends.