dreams like robots.

let's drive away
into the sun
after all
mars isn't ours
when we're always on the run
(that's what they say anyway)
get up, get out, get your guns
lock the door, precuation
smoke alarms will smoke us out
of holes in the ground
mad as rabbits with hats
made of misery
love your company
when you're always on the run
hide from the sun
in coffins like suffocating
under clean cotten sheets
that house memories,
heads, and feet
can't sleep for dreaming
this is our 'dreaming'
this, your terrible heat.