Bury It

Asked me to ghost him
 I don't like spirits
 The one I talk to won't respond
 Just sits on a still machine and she can tell that the quiet isn't ringing the bells.
 And why, is it such a long way down?
 And why, must we rip up the ground?
 Choked into a knot, they never concede
 With eyes like boulders that roll for the trees
 (and) hands around our neck
 with nothing to say but plenty to spit
 And some day, we want a firmer grip
 But these days, we're all splinters scattered amongst the wood-chips
 Bury It, bury it, bury it until it calls
 with airborn ashes, spread from eight legs
 to burn out all the graves.
 We'll know when it's free,
 the womb won't be so kind
 as to keep us sheltered in echoes
 from a scream that died long ago.
 Hallucinations. The voiceless faces
 Woven together too fine
 To provide comfort outside
 When limbs shake, when the bead groans
 Try, braining a thought against a wall
 Tried, but the answer doesn't soften the withdrawals
 Detuned disposal, long and hard or short
 Hung like moss, from a rotting branch
 Tendrils away, ever searching, will this be it? Will this be it?
 Left, gutted in the mud
 Just like a skeleton, the one we always want to find