what a week to take vacation

some time to recompose

to get back from the deadness

questions that i never chose


my instrument is alien

my hands remote-controlled

i cannot see my own two feet

the way is lined with marigolds


i have no numbers to report

no news in a ghost town

there is no story to be told

the wind already took it down


go diving in the deadness

go breathing in the deep

go dancing in the marigolds

but never fall asleep


what a day to wade back in again

the sunlit flowers cold

what a way to chase the day again

to watch the underworld unfold


//