Vineetha Mekkoth writes

Here in Backstreet Alley

The flowers on the walk
Are brighter than ever
Here as we traipse the streets
The trees are greener
The skies bluer
Here in Backstreet Alley

This is the place where
we peel off our skins
Where bone and marrow
grind into one
Psychedelic lights dim to grey
As we fall into exhausted slumber
Here in Backstreet Alley

And tomorrow we walk
the walk of the dead
For all around to see,
as we dance without masks
In the light falling rain
Here in Backstreet Alley