the bold projections in your head make deep impressions in my bed and all the great plans that you made are faded glories on a windswept plain and brown lit sunsets that make you cry will wipe that plaster from under your eye the world to come can start anew but legacies die and so will you the camps are growing the jails are full the crowd moves onwards it s starting to pull your tower crumbles into the sea and mice climb down to mingle with me and clocks tick backwards the seconds limp to listen loudly as the record skips this pretty picture is sublime i wish i could view it all the time