And shall the clay speak?
Shall it ask of the the hands that shape it...

The summer sun was broken then,
its warmth drifting...

There's a time for loneliness
When skies cry and we turn inside...

The human mind
(I think you'll find...

Another man
journeyed to another land...

Automatic
Pristine...

We rest again in shadows
clad in cloaks of night...

The fear of truth in the written word
subtle, prolific and clean...

Can you see it?
can you dream it...

Silver Flesh stretching taut across
Rotting, popping bones...

Because there are things that make the world turn.
cash flows and revenue...

The morning house was dark that day,
the bedroom rank with fear...