Morning

In my seven hundred halls I shall rest
In twelve bridges and forty-six lakes
Waving a flag of time above my head
I will spend new year’s eve on no-man’s-land

With so much to see and so little time
I’ll wander within my nine gardens
Forgetting the mistakes that led me here
Forgetting the road switching and the cost

In my shed by the ocean I shall hear
A million echoes but without one word
I’ve been knocking to hear the sound composed
It doesn’t matter if I sing along

It takes so much calling out to madness
Nights of genius at the tip of the tongue
Waiting for the sun amongst the flowers
As if morning lit up fumes of insight

Not to let you in, rather let it out
The door opens