| A slice of time, curling, peeling
|
| Back from the edge of the knife.
|
| Light fluttering as if between two trains
|
| Motordrive frames of life.
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| Long blends of days stream into nights
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| Consciousness barely coping.
|
| The land going by seems level
|
| But really the tracks are increasingly sloping.
|
| Images, images, images, images
|
| Arranged against a blank wall
|
| Images, images, images, images
|
| Telling the truth to us all.
|
| Pluck out a day, a week or an hour
|
| Hold it up, hold it up to the light.
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| Freeze the frame, really look at the faces
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| With all of your sight.
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| See the eyes looking at you
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| Immerse yourself into that minute.
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| My teacher said time is elastic
|
| I wonder just what I’ll find in it.
|
| Images, images, images, images
|
| Arranged against a blank wall
|
| Images, images, images, images
|
| Telling the truth to us all.
|
| A slice of time, curling, peeling
|
| Back from the edge of the knife. |