Songs which I would never
Consider writing and which
Are enveloped in fond memories
Play on the radio.

The edge of my trousers
Are wet but my feet are dry
And cold as ice in their warm stockings
Which I want to take of.

My life feels like one big
Disonance at the moment
As I take books off the bookshelfs and
Bang them open and shut.

Open and
Shut and open and
Shut and the dust asks
My lungs to let it
In my but my lungs
Protest and my nose
Wants more and my
Hands hurt and my eyes
Beg more
And I am sore.

מתוך המעשים
נמשכים הלבבות so
We clean the outside so that inside
We will be cleansed as well.

And I am sore.