On the cusp of sleep
There lives the single word
Or the phrases of monogamy
On the upheld unknown journey
Accompaniment is wayward
Yet welcome, bringing to life
Though not to be spoken
It is wielded by the unforgiving saint
On the break of day a pencil
Is gripped before a wipe of the eye
The ringing is all
Inside of the ears, the endless
Tingle of the damned infernal
