Thread: July the Fifth (concept poetry)

I don't know what other writers do when they get bored of writing vampire stories or far-future conspiracies, but I write wacky poetry. I've been trying to edit this to get it to flow straight, but I haven't been entirely successful, so I apologize in advance.

I.

July the fifth and I’m getting up just to go back to sleep
Open windows to let the air in- try to find some to keep
Haze is burning over highways left from last century
Well, I woke up in this filthy place without a memory

‘Hello’, the voices cry out; they just want to be heard
I tell them all to go shut up and not another word
I think that information matters
Well, isn’t it a shame?
When all the people on the streets don’t even know their names?

Oh, sweet memory, pray tell where have you gone?
Did you have to drop illusions like this were some mad con?

July the sixth was a great gray dawn, so full of itself
I saw the bombs fall over noontime, flying off the shelf
And in the stillness of the silence I know what must be said
Regrets, oh, yes- but never forget, not until you’re dead

II.

The schizos are out in the street
The sidewalk shakes beneath a million marching feet
And when they laugh, the chorus is insane
Ringing down the padded halls, it drills into your brain

They wish that they could just walk off into the meadows gone
From which we all have come, to return, as we all pass on
Where is the memory, pray tell where has it gone?

I wish that I could see the sun melting into the dawn
But, you see, I think that that would spoil all the fun
If anyone would ever tell me when to start to run

And as schizos sing their song, they start to fade away
Hours on the clock they pass by, marking out the day
The door is shut, the lock is turned, won’t open ‘til the morn
And inside we all stay safe, the sheep that have been shorn

Trying to please the rythm and meter gods isn't easy. They aren't very merciful.

I actually think it would be smoother if you broke the lines up, instead of letting them be so long. Like this:

July the fifth and I’m getting up
just to go back to sleep
Open windows to let the air in-
try to find some to keep
Haze is burning over highways
left from last century
Well, I woke up in this filthy place
without a memory

Just my opinion, but I think the longer lines lessen the impact of what you're saying here.