i saw you flying they think i’m built of numbers they think you’re built of numbers one hundred years down and time’s made dust of bones
you could say that you will be ready with a feeding tube strung through your gas mask all your words used to have meaning but they lost their cores float unmoored
should you get bored turn to the screen with a steady pour poor poor masses little more slumber little folding of the hands to rest fold your hands to rest
i saw you flying in an automobile in a dream on a road in the sky