When it's cold I walk
Forward into the thick
Where the wind's black
And the rhythms stick.

I've forgotten, or,
Is it I don't care
So I move my legs,
Honest, lone and bare.

I ask the questions,
Read the answers.
I watch it sleep,
And still it stirs.

Further, further yet,
What to see or know?
As I pass the lighted edge
I hate to see it go.

Nothing has changed
And yet it turns.
Crashing on, I keep pace,
And all the while it burns.