The pillows you lay your head on
at night are filled with bugs
Their marching puts you to sleep. You pull
your dead self over your
dying self, warming your living
self, warning your living self of the
dangers of
making love or searching out the familiar.
The familiar lies like
the drugs you take forgetting your feelings.
What you feel is a truth. What you feel.
What are you feeling?
Feeling down, feeling dragged?
It's Dragsville man
the only way out of this prison is to dig.
Ya dig?
No not you dig
They dig,
and you just lay down. You lay down
and rest in your bed with your
pillows.