كلمات Archives

The wounds are leaking equivocal fluids Flowing through a pale existence The atmosphere that holds the heart Is the black dam that subdues the tongue A downward slope to the archives Within lies the story of our decay Ripe and complete, so address it now The speechless mouth, the withered tongue The crests on the path to the archives The scented words, sent across the distance They pare the walls Coating the perfume in between the bricks There was no gold in the rivers The cold vault The sparkling red sun is trapped In the quiet room, the sound of the nervous moons' pulse The walls cave in You coil yourself around the earth A downward slope to the archives