That day i sent that long dead thing down the river past memories made
And tinted by mud and blood and bone
Let me not yawn so long past this; past dawn of ennui and futility
I am electrically leaning back and towards
Those unfamiliar and \”Other\” doors,
found at first by unfamiliar floors- but doorways- they flew open
In moments waiting for response the that puny voice crying sincerely
I may do this and that but
This is infinitely me still
Thin Tin String 