[ti:]
[ar:]
[al:]
[00:25.41]It's been sixty days
[00:36.51]Since the black sky opened up the food-gates.
[00:48.56]Fell down hard on the sun-stained fair-grounds.
[00:57.51]
[00:59.90]Held back any
[01:06.57]Recollection
[01:11.50]Of the bloodshed
[01:18.26]Somehow.
[01:24.54]And now
[01:31.73]This unending rain
[01:41.68]Stopping short on the surface of the watery graves
[01:54.67]Is another, even nicer,
[02:06.17]Simpler sort of silence these days.
[02:15.31]Don't be so afraid of the insomnia plague.
[02:25.49]
[02:29.27]This is what he wrote in the ripped-up note:
[02:35.09]I've become something even less than a ghost.
[02:40.66]Even more of a though, I've become a mirage.
[02:49.52]I'm the shaky air encircling the flickering flame.
[03:00.95]I'm the white wall swallowing the window frame.
[03:10.25]
[03:12.44]Don't be so afraid of the insomnia plague.
[03:23.94]