Departure hugs are some sorta crazy wish
Can’t drag your feet, can’t turn all the lights on
It is 4 am, ghost mode on, sort self and evaporate
You gotta keep the sleeping populace asleep.

1 ghost, 2 ghosts, another ghost, some other ghost
The desire for bread, drives them all into the street.
Identified by walking patterns, body shapes
Plate number, headlamp, never names nor facial looks

The record keeper sleeps not
Signed you out at 10:30 pm, clocks you in at 4:30 am
The scratches on its tar, those ones you call potholes
Those cracks on its pillars are evidences of our cyclic struggles.

Plug in the earphone; try to make sense of the beats
Create a different reality, drift away, sleep surely comes
Dreams def comes, come true? Maybe, maybe not.
You gotta come through, show up to know.

Work’s on repeat, forever looping
It is mayday, all ghosts are home.
Keep the body rested, spirit awake
Happy worker’s day.