Survival,

Alice rolls over
I am not sure she means to
A dark mist descends
Our tongues stick
To the roof of our mouth
I could howl
But all I can do is stare
Smoke ridden mysteries
We will pull through
The fields are green now
I can see them from my window
Soft as feathers
It was never meant to be like this
Alice rolls over
I am not sure she means to.