Strike the iron while the moon is bleeding,
heels on marble, sparks repeating.
Omo cries through neon rain,
every drop a burnt refrain.
Clock hands crawl like guilty cats,
memory nailed in rusty flats.
We dance on contracts we never signed,
shadows billing us for time.
Strike—let the ledger cry;
strike—let the ghosts testify.
In the fracture of a bell that never rang,
we auction off the scars we swore to hang.