| The cathedral buried beneath another cathedral is where the glibbest instrument |
| lay |
| And there it rests, exhausted |
| While in the visible room, a band continues to play |
| The insensitive diviner, feeling ill |
| The beetle rolled over and time stopped |
| Suddenly the gospel pages multiplied |
| And my entire bookshelf reversed itself |
| I don’t want to be the melody |
| I prefer the choking sow |
| Who, while taking every care to parry |
| Has wound up with her head in the ground |
| And each of us choking on the cannonball with a sound |
| Can’t help but sleep until it’s dark |
| And winter weighs on every bough |
| We watch you as you drown |
| And reach up to us on your way down |
| You’re hanging from your toes in a tiffany redoubt |
| Come back and I’ll tell you more… |