Past the burning day,
at bedtime when I shrug off sleep,
when I've got school the next morning, and I shouldn't be here,
I sit down and press play, and the noise starts, and the colors fly up around me, and cities erect and destroy themselves as the songs start and end.
I fall in.
I fall in deep.
1)
I think that when he looks at pianos,
The keys are stained and worn in
With grooves and dents,
In the shapes of his fingerprints,
ghosts of peo / ple hiding in this house / they grew up in and left / hiding under tables in clo / sets long thin men pale pe / ople dark people all hidden / separately in the same room / waiting for the seeker to finis / h counting endlessly endl
He can see kids glowing in the kitchen,
Hands sticky with sweet gossip,
Bright, beautiful little selves smudged by the window that he,
A cracked old statue has broken his hands and fingers by banging on,
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