Octane

The rain is coming down in jagged gray sheets,

and my boots are starting to darken and leak.

I’m standing alone in the middle of these streets

where the air is heavy and the future looks bleak.

A few drops of fuel splashed onto the leather,

and suddenly you’re standing right by the door.

It’s a scent that can pull back the worst kind of weather

and make me feel things I shouldn't no more.

Down in the puddle, a rainbow is burning,

a toxic, bright oil on the face of the road.

It’s a beautiful mess, like the way I keep turning

back to the weight of a different code.