i come to you all dressed in sound.
bluebirds stripping wires to the ground,
connected to a time machine that will not power down.
set the crosshairs back on one.
you said we'd only die here in the sun.
the way your headstone shines,
i only wish that it was mine.

so set the crosshairs back on one,
and nail the loop that brings the second run,
past the wished on charms,
through the lens back to your living arms.

this time machine won't power down.
and this time machine won't power down.

and still the crosshairs rest on one.
and still you rest here in the morning sun,
and still I fumble through
pages of constructions on the line.

i like the clone of sound you found.
i like the way it feels here coming down.
the way your headstone shines
i only wish that it was mine.