he is sitting on a hill a vapid night is crawling through the vale the trees are fangs of transiency the demons forge hammers and nails the spring is in the air the sirens in the skies the wind is in his hair the morning's in his eyes the rain turns on and he will be on the phone the world has left alone... he will travel all the ways that lead to the unknown lands time has distorted his view an amen in his due the spring is in the air the sirens in the skies the wind is in his hair the morning's in his eyes the rain turns on and he will be on the phone the world has left alone...
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