And quickly, passing, all lines in the sky, behind the eyes, anyway, it's not very late amongst the noise,
which is almost loud.
I'm a bit gone, as if to say, gone in a particular tone,
on the eve.
Just too rich and twilight and with
no most tense.
To take out all the sounds, to be a flat and constant note, no such luck far away, no no good.
text ~ Linda Marie Walker