. Alive as a stone is cold, frozen, Unmoved as drying statuary - No blood was running in my veins, No song was sung behind my brain.
Was I black as rock in wintry shroud? Was I a phantasm that caught your eye? My ends were sewn, threaded with hands, That room, with you, was clothed in dream.
And I slept in a loft that chastened all airs, I lived in a box which you buried out there, Out in the hollows of the winds and rains, I fear I was dead, before we became.