The human body always caves in on itself
When I think about it, it's like 1979
How far away from that behaviour am I?
In air there is nothing, you're in it, across from me
Walls are men hiding
And doors are men coming
And chairs are men waiting
And men are things nothing
A deeply felt well rankled by indifference
Not turned from but left in suppliant waste
Fear of loss of momentum informs everything
And stages melt, one into another
Walls are men hiding
And doors are men coming
And chairs are men waiting
And men are things nothing