there's a jet lag on the riverbednnwhere my words are washed ashorennand the clouds fill with mud til you can't see the sunnntil my words just scream no morenn(at its seams the morning tore)nnnnin the stillness of sacrificennsiphoned from fables unknownnnnnthere's a jet lag on the riverbednnwhere my words are washed ashorennand like fish they convulse, slowly losing their pulsenntil they're picked off by the birdsnn(and it seems i mourn those born)nnnnand i shout to the deadnnin the deafening silence of lifennas those indifferent eyesnnlook to skin me and burn me alivennnnthey took him awaynnon the back of their bottomless handsnnthey told him to stay