La Petite Mort / Little Death
The Brief Loss, or Weakening of Consciousness
Let your body on a ride. You gonna stop in soil. So, I’m gonna hide myself.
Maybe just this time. And I’m just nothing. Restless. My body cries. A weird time.
This is a life of, a life of panic and vigilance - like mine. On a thoughtful side. I always look for a rest in them.
Right! But why are these people so sad? Why are these people dejected? Hey! Why do they stay so sad? They stay: Wait. And sleep doesn’t occur.
This is a life of, a life of panic and vigilance - like mine. On a thoughtful side. I always look for a rest in me.
Right! But why are these people so sad?
Maskros
Bearer
Get up to go out and open doors to empty rooms - find broken floors. I trust to soon when reaching for a hand, the one that might prevent. The headwind grows heavy on my chest. It pushes me back further than from where I started out. Takes with it the tracks, so I can‘t return to those whereabouts. And who will be the bearer of bad news? It ought to be the one who had to choose.
