Chill in the swallow hollow,Crack out loose and tantrum throw, Beat box braise in saliva and hot air, Bruise your voicebox in torrents.

Move endlessly and the wave dissipates, Conducted in the narrow tubes of metal and streams air channeled, Is there any meaning or just a great whooshing?

Words are wind.

The island ringing and spent, Shakings it's phantom limbs penitent, The sorrowful moaning of things flung Screaming for purchase and a berth,

Swerves, ungrounded alone, In space you cannot push off nothing; you are stuck, Floating onward forever alone.

Ground this shoving; frame this seeking in stones Set upon the horizon, through which we're rushing notes And we will find our bidding, bound in reference to those tombs There standing alone. There standing alone. There standing alone.