The Things Themselves

Roll out from the softness of your slumber The sand is hot like a shooting star Virginia (???) snow is closer than you know it's only A smile from the face and wave of the hands that you've been counting on Discos that colour that spawn(?) from the yellow sun Recall the feather what fell from the wounded swan And you'll be holding words with meanings above the things themselves The things themselves Don't tell me that the days move slowly Calender leave can't fight (?) through the floor The middle of the day and the month of May are sisters They can trade their place making time and day unheeded Discos that colour that spawn(?) from the yellow sun Recall the feather what fell from the wounded swan And you'll be holding words with meanings above the things themselves The things themselves