Wednesday, 6 January 2010


The window’s waiting
For the watchman,
Looking out you can see him rise;
The fish are fed
And full of reason,
Here he is and he don’t advise.

The moon men coming
In the window,
Every night to make you sleep;
They’re full of things
To help you under,
Gold and green trees, counting sheep.

The down men move you
Further into,
More or less what they sow for you,
And those who feed
The wanton seasons,
Do not fear what they imbue.

The window’s wounded
In mid winter,
Looking out you see the sort;
The fish are thinning
In the swimming,
Looking lean and vastly wrought.

The moon men moving
Things in the sky,
Up until the morning time;
The down men under
Influence do
All they can to scrap sunshine.

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