[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]