Sing a song of six-pence, a stalkers field of rye. Sing a little ditty to make the dreary time go by. I need the wings of an angel, a time lapse photography animated batch of holy heaven flying, crooked and slightly too green. My mind is full of pop lyric lines, music video cuts and quick symmetry photography. Just when I needed it beyond all things, I have passed on my light and the next morning I still had gunpowder in my hair, I could smell it. Saturday was the first day in a very long time with any real distraction.
It’s a pity that even through all of this, I can still call on iron. I can’t explain how close I was to being addressed.