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Hold your tongue the unwilling and the safe |
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Make your mark in your own tiny way |
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Your own miniature firework display for one |
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Fear of facing the shadow on the shore |
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Tied in knots and hung out on the backdoor |
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The 'boy-done-good' thoughts of valour and the all for one |
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It's the beetle in the box that shakes in your hands |
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And it's formed out of feelings I don't understand |
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They're mapped in the gaps and the spaces between |
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The worry of bearing the ghost in the machine |
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I eat your words and you mark my mistakes |
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We set the dictionary up to fail |
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The work of poets is a vapour we exhale it's gone |
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Fleeting fondness is a flicker in your frown |
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Spilling out in adjectives and nouns |
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A mess of letters once it's chewed and swallowed down all gone |
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It's the beetle in the box that shakes in your hands |
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And it's formed out of feelings I don't understand |
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They're mapped in the gaps and the spaces between |
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The worry of bearing the ghost in the machine |
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How do you feel pain? |
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(Tremors through the floor) |
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How do you hear sound? |
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(Tapping on the walls) |
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I wish I could feel it all |
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It's the beetle in the box that shakes in your hands |
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And it's formed out of feelings I don't understand |
|
They're mapped in the gaps and the spaces between |
|
The worry of bearing the ghost in the machine |
