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Nausicaa 347
Carriages curl, laugh, you air!
The ink of the sermon rams the anthems
And dresses them in hats and class
Until they disappear beneath the waves
We make out their faces from our high place
They make their careers on their chins.
And the sound of nothing
Is the sound of something
Until you put your want aside and find
Yourself step step stepping into a void
Cigarette in your lips and your moustache on fire
You check the cross
And split the sky
And you laugh and in laughing
Come crashing
Into this sweet heaven.
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