The rain has learned my name tonight, and wears it like a funeral stain; it falls through the ribs of heaven and rusts what remains. I walk where the streetlights tremble, where the pavements swallow the rain, with a heart gone cold and flavourless, too tired to hurt again. I chose the road with no ending, the one that forgets where it goes; I followed its broken black teeth through the mud and the falling snow. And every wrong turn knows me. Every ghost knows my face.