i was a wayward pastel bay with a prize pound many times i feel in the mood overcome and fell ten thousand branches looping through one minor constant luded patch a limping and broken branch confused and slightly out of reach i think i saw it did you i think i saw it too there goes another one another one there goes another one and another one i didn t know when you were asleep but you wake and told your dreams to me all the scenes and things that it could mean that sense of rifled air but my short beers in tear in sage and in the viscous night slip fabric on a movie screen a boulevard reality fly away quick with feathers cold send through the funnel and flown to the fold 