Image: ©️ Andres Stadelmann
Author: Andres Stadelmann
Spells
Toppled by storms
And strands
Born to brush a little with your feet
Sometimes with your hands
But never with your eyes
Sheets, smells
You kick with your feet
And you reach for those hands
But the touch is too far to keep away from those
Those voices I hear
They can breathe
And sometimes think
And often drift
Into that land of dreams
But when my hands rejoin
To something offscreen
And try and stay awake
By that touch of fatigue
And I try and stay awake
Thinking of those brave, brave men
And the spikes in the bush
And the fire of that dream
Thinking clean
Thinking clean
A touch of a spleen
And those souls lost in paradise
How shall I think of thee
And that touch oh so dry
And that mouth oh so still
Only dreaming
Only dreaming
To that still of a hill
But when I try, when I try
When I try
To dream far
Just a foot
Just a touch
Of that fiery hill
Please
Please
Take me