another heart beating real slownin cold storagenwaiting, waiting, waiting, waitingna transplant without a chestnnthe color bleeds into the roomnmorning still suffers last night's wrung out moonnninside there's waternis it slowing to ice?nand you're spending the daynquietly alivennif you see a fearsome cloud of dustnwith a million arms and legsnwhich spin like plates in orbitnround half as many radiant headsnit could be that the rapture camenand we're the ones who're leftnso while the faithful play bridge up in the skynwe cry, we crynit's ours! it's ours now!nthe abandoned cities and towns nownall that good green gaining ground nownno the bears wake up & shake their headsnflowers stand up in their bedsn& all the rest of us left for dead come downn& we all parade aroundn