Euclidean Sunrise
No Signal
It's a greeting day from the morning Sun as the moss grows into light Caving in the averages of time It's a beautiful lackadaisical ethic from my barren mind I'm running out of time The feelings brought from the distant trumpets Separate into the pulsing summints A mind Covered in this grime The language brought from the distant trumpets carved into my spine Don't know to go when they so might