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