here and within this milky moonlight
when the still of the air grows thin
and i make my mark upon these walls of paper
hung dry and parched with pen
somewhere the answer
lies the open grave
of a thousand souls before me
bought to life like slaves to trade
i am the only inside
in a room assigned to out
and headstones can make a fine hat
for those who choose walk that route
but here in the ever absence
if i can instill in you
a reason to elevator
when death makes your life’s debut

then i have achieved what mortal men can’t be by name
and we will be as astrals in the open plane
if you are bound for forward then i am head for home
and we can forgoe the womb and withdraw our need for bone

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