These ears are sharp. They've been pounding beat red
Since I hit the ground - I've adopted a shape.
The counterpart of steel
Still too heavy to float.
I'm wind in a raincoat.

I wake in Hulda's arms. No will to atone.
We grease the cogs, spend our daylight bogged down
Don't ask again, no will to atone.
Quite the spectacle, I'm sure; to be inside out.
They demand my self-harm, my self-doubt

We, they, and the hunger are three.

Time's sand clocks drain and age for ripe. We choke and scream through exhausted pipes.
Witness the song while I survive the conflict.

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