(Fishman)

And farther that the eye can tell
or the word may see
stands tall among the narrow firths
pillow wanderer of Gaul

The granite side slopes shed the tread of the romper crane
I swore I'd never speak their way again, and so it was

And then came the rains to pelt and round
their sound and image brought sense to the land world
a common magnificence stretched over, and there, and stars
stars as they they lifted the palms of their hand to their face

And their beings all would burble and melt with giggle
they would exclaim "reasonable children"
and take masterful chef for a walk

Then came the round sun
screaming them all into their little holes
sinking teeth into nails
wrapping tight cloth
incinerating all their little orange colored scraps
and waiting
waiting for the round ones
the round ones
the round ones

Some were taken
others, coaxed with bacos
their tiny little welts
were not heard
by the thundering feet any longer
and the strength of the beacon grew
searing cold over short bursts of time
travel and exercise were sporadically internalized
and eventually truncated from statute
there was no more time

My mind aches in remembrance
swift are the changes
all of them occur in one moment
but their perception takes a lifetime
and the pillow wandered smiles, indignant
the crane, in the mid-zone?
it's all in time, there is only in between

And you were there
you look out
you see you're standing there
you look out
you see from where you came
you look out
you walk on down the hall
you look out

There is no one in the doorway
you turn back
no, I'm sorry.. oh... holy... shit!
you look...

You walk on down the hall
you look in the door
there is a man at a table
he turns to look at you
you look out
there is no one in the doorway
you turn back to your plate
you look out
There is an old man lying in your bed
You look out.
There is no one at the table.

Gaul is at the foot of the bed
Gaul is the hole in the wall