In starts up the staircase, in fits to the room, As swathes of ocean meet, melt and form again. In measures, colours decrease in the steam, As in my roof-top white sheet lightning dream. Catacomb village, sandlewood your skin, I'm your tether's end, you're my everything. Oh honey biscuits, when I sensed you'd outdone me, Could have forged up the mountain, I left for the forgery. Striking a claim for us, apply the flame to us, softly. It's a delicate business, and you know just how to charge me. Is that something taking shape, is that something taking flight? So carried away, lightening, sheets of white.