Planes are turning and circling in the sky, lost keys to faraway lands. I am singing under my breath, plumes of alphabet are falling. Falling, failing light is tracing memory maps on buildings of steel and blood. All signs are mixed up, down and up, how to tell? Arrows are quitely spinning about their center, what is the head and tail of these tales I hear? Chrome and crystal under the barlights are shining, where I am still drinking this bitter brew. But hey hey I am still singing the blues, under my breath, to a dear someone, anyone.