The poet speaks
The world recedes
There is no sound
Left of his breathing
The world recedes
There is no sound
Left of his breathing
He draws the void
We might believe
If there could be
An end to reading
We might believe
If there could be
An end to reading
The words erase
Each tiny thing
But there is never
Really nothing
Each tiny thing
But there is never
Really nothing
As the theory
Would have it be
Meaning glows like glass
Cannot empty
Would have it be
Meaning glows like glass
Cannot empty
