|
TRACK FIVE
|
(Scott Walker)
|
|
It's a starving reflection
|
if he dies in the night
|
listening to the increase.
|
|
It cuts out your likeness
|
in blood circulations
|
suspended beneath a release.
|
|
A low volume force feed
|
lower than pity
|
slips across under the heart
|
and your hostage rewinding
|
from every eclipse
|
rolls in the voltage
|
run-off rain on his lips.
|
|
We chew up the blackness
|
to some high sleep
|
travel a faster silence.
|
|
One to go long again
|
in the going-
|
-gone again.
|
|
Full stare passages
|
striking less face;
|
outside on the move
|
a shattered heart pace
|
greases the fade;
|
sinking the blood back
|
breaking to where loaded icons wade.
|
|
Eyesides catch far awake
|
in a cols sanctuary.
|
|
Pain sonics eternities
|
all through themoves.
|
|
A first communication
|
tears loose undelivered
|
and swims unassigned
|
in your dimmed latitudes.
|
|
And the heat from the shore
|
melts down to recieve us;
|
floodlit foreheads
|
howled open and so nearly blessed
|
as they soften round dog-joys
|
of unfinished strangers
|
rubbed out on a point
|
afterburning
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
TRACK FIVE
|
Scott Walker |