Wind. the wind
Begin to ascend.
Reach for anything,
As the air has no end.

But soon, you'll wind
Down through the air
With only the cold, hard ground
Meeting you there.

Feel the soil
Running through your nose.
It's a wound down music box
That doesn't know how it goes.

It's a simple memory
That falls apart as it grows.
It's a simple memory
That falls apart as it grows.

Now that picture is cracked
And the color is gone.
And the last thing I remember
I can no longer see.
There's a tree that grows into
A tree that collapses.
But from there, it goes off
Into the scenery.

Copyright: SC PUBLISHING DBA SECRETLY CANADIAN PUB.
Writer(s): Edward George Kadane, Matthew Byron Kadane