I know there is no promise
That could be kept with myself
Looking over my shoulder
At what comes next
I am a seam that holds together the place at any moment
At any moment it, it might unravel
If, if I move into the next room
The next room is painted gold
It, it is by candle light
What garment is the painted room
A shirt, a hat, a small cotton white comes closer to my insides
I travel down the corridor unravelling
I travel down the corridor unravelling
Naked is a promise
A coat, a hat–my under things unravelling
I know there is no promise
That could be kept
With myself
Looking over my shoulder
At what comes next
What comes next
What comes
What comes
What comes
Comes
What comes
Comes