The boards are falling in again,
The rain has brought me here.
As quiet as my corpse,
If it were not
The drifting clear.
A cradled vision is the sil-
-ken, woven web about,
Enwombing all my senses in
A soft onset of doubt.
Each drop now halving quickness and consistency of all
Which I can feel now coursing warm and wet,
As each drop falls.
The flash of thought again,
But shaken I return, still stripped,
I follow as the drops
Descend from brow, to eye, to lip.
From brow, to eye, to lip.
As time and time again.
As fall to winter, all must end.
As rain to snow, as it gets cold.
So young at every glance, but still, so old.
The boards are falling in again,
The rain has brought me here.
As quiet as my corpse, if it
Were not the drifting clear.
A cradled vision is the silken, woven web about,
Enwombing all my senses in a soft onset of doubt.
Each drop now halving quickness and consistency of all
Which I can feel
Now coursing warm and wet,
As each drop falls.
The flash of thought again,
But shaken I return, still stripped,
I follow as the drops descend
From brow, to eye, to lip.
From brow, to eye, to lip.
As time and time again.
As fall to winter, all must end.
As rain to snow, as it gets cold.
So young at every glance, but
Still, so old.