It's dark and it's cold and quiet
There's a man with hours still on his Pass,
But he's broken.
It's the same old sights, over and over
The hotels, the bars and the food
But Leave will be over when the sun comes up
And the rest of the world opens its eyes

There's the sharp metal midnight chill:
That rusted metal railing under his bare forearms
And the goosebumps up his short sleeves
Over his shoulders and down his spine
A wakening draft that should be distracting

But it's all just numb
He's facing the lights and the lake
Mirror-sheen and icy static, a few ripples disturb another world
Reflected in some black abyss:
Just a ring of coloured electric lights
A fuzzy ring - a slowly dipping halo of festive colours
And an evanescent city glow backdrop to the silhouette of trees
He picks up a projectile, absently
An unsatisfying "plop" and an ugly scar and he moves on

The embers of his cigarette crackling, it lights up his face
And makes what little that's there seem all the more distant
A buffer of blackness and he's on his own
A dead carnival and a morning dew

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