My bed is a garden where voices all meet
Hands skim through water beneath my pillow
Stones like rain wash away the hours
The hands on my clock s** wilted flowers
Silent thunder cries me to sleep
Falling from the edge so steep
And if my eyes shy from the morning
My lips will taste of unripened fruit
Words without language call from the past
The future was the day before the last
Hands skim through water beneath my pillow
Stones like rain wash away the hours
The hands on my clock s** wilted flowers
Silent thunder cries me to sleep
Falling from the edge so steep
And if my eyes shy from the morning
My lips will taste of unripened fruit
Words without language call from the past
The future was the day before the last