from shape to shape where losing shape takes form
those who can sleep have no edge of time
it's memory that cuts through this insomnia
where loss and fear of losing loss are borne
the sound made there has no line
it's memory lost in neglect and vain nostalgia
where the hope of the living is to live off a graveyard
where
daily
the dead bury
the dead
daily
at their own expense
through unsigned contracts
with no one left to bury them when
where they make this sound without end
