I fell for something she thought hidden. The oldest of none. The loudest of all and most distant suns. Scent hounds of fever, ONCE IN A WHILE A DOG GETS BITTEN. Oh, hail them all well then! Restore whatever may hope deterred. Perfume. (A) perhaps-perspective. All these darling answers, our dearest vows she washed away. Well, she‘s no healer yet. No offer. There‘s an oblique and most tiring glance. I chanced to meet her by the sheer. One more stitch and you‘re fixed (my dear). All those shattered selves you choose for me. I‘ll keep piling up them bells, all that čoček I have danced. Oh babe they‘ll bomb us in our sleep! Wired grounds they‘ll fold. You were called to seek. Who calms the weary and the fatigue?

We are dreamt by the heartache of her sleep, brother. All hands they swallow. All of them rivers led forth and swallowed.

First I‘d pass ‘em by, golden halves of torn off ways. A thousand choirs abide while her type sadly went astray. Hours apart from this wreck of a scene; masses by the worn-out patterned grounds of some new queen. I used to praise her so far from her shrine, in these well-lit alleys of promising signs. Plague birds tout her reign. Old and just. Asking our dreams to blame. Pardoned and cured by this far-reaching rain. Masses by the worn-out alleys of promising signs. Hours apart from this wreck of a scene; masses by the worn-out patterned grounds of some new queen. Causeway waltz. Yearn for me. Waltz away! Cheers! I stumbled hard. High priests of woes asking the dice for notions of hope. For some echo. Echoes of salt. The wrong bird has flown. A show-stone of tears. I have been bitten by dozens of snakes. Well. Well then! Theirs tied to mine. Their hands. Their rhymes. Mirror-scaled Rome. The enchantress ONE. I laughed and cursed. I laughed and cursed. I sure hoped I‘d still smell her on my breath. We buried our debts in the snow. Them dearest embraces you sorely withdrew. I feast my eyes upon you, dear. Pour out pure waters for the worried prestige. A thousand known choirs of doubt and tears. Guessing ourselves while the wishful decays. Gazing for halyards to ascend someplace else to PILOT TAKE PILOT TAKE PILOT MY DEAR. We buried our garden in fear of stones. Quiet-voiced rumours about drifting ashore. Abandoning ship as we speak. Still afloat there. I believe in a truth never considered (she claimed), steering her face into mine. Take over this broken winged bird. TAKE PILOT TAKE PILOT TAKE PILOT.

(instrumental)