I can feel the ever-weight
of sights that never leave me;
lead images, one on the other
filling the head with wet cotton,
weighed down and dream lost;
it makes for a good ether
that I might become vanished
I can feel the ever-weight
of sights that never leave me;
lead images, one on the other
filling the head with wet cotton,
weighed down and dream lost;
it makes for a good ether
that I might become vanished