In the wrenching spell of nightmare,
something cadaverous,
phosphorescent on the forest floor.
Bleached as if drowned and months missing.
Current-carried, caught on some subterranean thing.
Tell me it isn’t you.
Tell me.
Oh, my love. My life.
In the wrenching spell of nightmare,
something cadaverous,
phosphorescent on the forest floor.
Bleached as if drowned and months missing.
Current-carried, caught on some subterranean thing.
Tell me it isn’t you.
Tell me.
Oh, my love. My life.
Aremyfeetofftheground 