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Tim Exile
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I Saw the Weak Hand Fall
I came into the square.
I lent my violet on the double beds.
The bangs took on slowly over.
The streamers are wet from the sky.
The color flooded away.
The huge man's leg had fallen off.
They were winching him away.
Black strings of life hung from his stomach,
The air around him heavy.
We clutched our hands together
And watched a crane eat the morning.
His color had run so far away,
Not even rain would stick to him.
In between the sheets of starchy plastic,
There's a collar softly cotton warm.
When you run away beyond the precipice,
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Whisper in the ear.
You whisper like a shelter with a silent mouth
Shepherding the breeze.
A commune takes the lever but your time will never come,
Returning every time to nothing and to one.
The silver rippled one more time
In waves of nothing reaching for the edge.
I will give nothing, at the end.
I'll have seen nothing, by the end.
In the beginning I had nothing at all.
In the beginning I saw the weak hand fall.
In the beginning I had nothing at all.
In the beginning I saw the weak hand fall.
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