Buck 65

Buck 65 - Riverbed 4

The moon is blue tonight, the wind is freezing

The river is restless and I have stopped breathing

An upside down swordfish pierced my parachute, fireflies

Flicker and it makes you want to hide your eyes

I breathe out gently right before my own death

Exhaling the mist of a three quarter tone breath

Like a pyramid of heartbeats, everything fainting

Like the windless delicacy of the air in Chinese paintings

I inhale the ashes of past deaths and dust

From butterflies wings and particles of rust

My eyes become gemstones, forgetting the fears

For glittering merely, not the shedding of tears

Sleep recites the psalm of the damned

No need to watch the flame of my life in the palm of my hand

As pale as the holy ghost speaking many languages

No one knows the secret, no enemy vanquishes

The dream will watch over it, as I lie broken

No need to remain with eyes wide open

The pulp of roots and mile of cactus eases my pains

The quick silver drippings of the trees in my veins

A matress of moss, candles in my branches

Carried by the wind, buried by avalanches

Everything proceeds in slow motion under here

No wonder this is the sleep of one hundred years

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