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A mountain growing through a train
That's riding and can't afford to be late.
A sea destroying the bay
To drown it along with all the stations and the rail.
I'm clogged up with nonsense.
The baby wants to stay inside and play.
It's later, she's gone outside into the rain.
The stars are shining teeth that taste.
The moon is a porthole on the train.
The summer is now cold and gone,
The autumn plants are dead and long,
The winter's come around and all's the same.
It tends to be the first
That I would call a name for,
A sign for.
And when it goes how will it go?
When every day is one
And I can't even sweep your floor
And I'm bored.
And when it goes how will it go?
And all the seconds just feel the same.
No moving, ageing all in the same place,
My brain, you'll see when my face is falling off.
My face is falling off.
The winter is a weathered stone,
The spring is a flower whose neck is broke,
The summer's come around and all's the same.
There tends to be a time
That I would call an open door,
A sign for.
And when it goes how will it go?
The glass has gone to sand,
The fist is now an open hand,
The plants bulbs.
And when it goes how will it go?