Now paralyzed, pressed down, and held in place Your back in spasms, grabbing, catching fire A drama with no story to amaze Just turgid, painful truth, internal red Believe in no one, welcome everything This was the mantra, no? Or was it this: Palatial are the regions of the heart That soon lie empty as a ghost in Spring The bed becomes a cage, a snare, a trap The mind becomes a dark, accusing judge The world outside is snowing mail and sludge And you're back here again, back here again
