Yesterday was faraway, but not enough. It’s not like me to criticize, after death that is. A distance freezes the horizon, raises, by hand, a hundred splendid ways. Your eyes, like a a diamond in the craze, your mind, like clarity in haze. Drowned in a daze, a sound dancing through the music, held near you, in your backpack, with colors to lull, and a body to rest, you should stop for a minute and la-la-la lie down.
Tomorrow is further. Furthermore, the rows of magnificence are quite difficult and occult in a quiet thread, the threads that bind, and sing the advanced setting of sorrow. I borrow the voice, I pull it through the daisy lie and bring it to being, and think that oh-oh-oh I see you leaving, I record and watch you leave.