Texty: Shannon Wright. A Vessel For A Minor Malady.

There's no cure so why should i care
You have fled into this blackness
In this sling i must contain

You use your force
To comfort my trembling hands
And fold them aside

These hued eyes
They have sent
The longest beatings
The hour bows

To seek some light
With golden strings

You construct this wheel
With your threads of argentine