Helpsichord
(Gill got what she was after
When she flew into the door
Dissasociative reality asking
Are you coming back for more?)
When I was the preacher
And you were the flitting prey
Cusped so tight together
Under the weather
When I was lost to the world
You come and find me
In a tiny backwards garden
Lookalike no more
As we are shown the door
The end is in sight
Good night
Monday, February 28, 2005
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