No Twilight Within The Courts Of The Sun
Steven John Wilson
Dragging a lake
Find the owner of the voice
Zip in the bank
And drove up across the noise
Examine the hairline
As archives in the strands
You turn into something
That puts the weakness in my hands
I see what I suppose
I breathe what I dispose
Black wheels turn yellow in the sand
I steal every idea that I can
Instead of a person, a shadow's in the lake
Instead of coercion, she blows his hand-grenade
And I have an aversion to dying in a car
And I reach corrosion, a suitcase in the dark