This arrested time is also a question about what is describable; about the linguistic limits of what can be conveyed.- Denis Riley (Time Lived, Without its Flow)
So what, I'll run like hell from you
My fingertips, they are turning blue, they are bruised
Oh, from reaching out in the oh, cold wet rain
Oh, my neck strains because you keep calling my name
The last circle around the tree from where we came
With our names engraved
In my sleep last night, I think the cord broke
Oh, it snapped its line
And you are no longer tied to me
In the 5th dimension, so, on earth I'm free
Through the forest under moonlit sunken sky
Oh, the maggots crawl and the wolf's asking me why
My family hasn't kept my head held high
It makes me question the way I said goodbye
