pounding away in the back of my head

until i've almost lost myself

and those red and black patterns

in which nothing happens

have made me sleep





a beautiful voice is a nail

being pulled out of wood

carry on little hammer

you were always my favourite toy





when the world's dead to me

in my soft ??? fortunate cushion of pins(?)

is a soldier

slicing thin(?) through(?) thin(?)

the unfortunate truth sneaking in