Ebbing
Michael Gira
Under sulfur skies
The drunken tides will pull us in
Unfolding – but not breathing
Upon your breast
I'll rest my head, in laziness
Gestating – just dreaming but not breathing
My swallowed tongue my wounded dove
Your eyes are mine, occluding
We're sinking, just drifting
Not breathing, but releasing
In shallow ponds within your palm
There lies a mind, dissolving
Not seeing, unfolding
Not thinking, releasing repeating, releasing
Not breathing, not breathing
Releasing, releasing relеasing
