Collecting Dust.

A brief reprise.


The dead men sing women you mean the dead men never were quite dead dead red bled from the eyes and inside out the dead men sing for me like birds a-flying but you never really were dead were you my hybrid my father my herr doctor in the theatre in the tunnels in the bomb shelter hers and his and shouting like a joyous song like birds pierces a ribbon of red red red and maybe you're in here and maybe I ate you maybe I'm you am I you I am quite dead I believe splits in two one red one blue ich bin ein what in two and dead men bred for bright red heads me the bengel das childe no longer homme garcon mais the cliff is falling falling down down a pit of claws are they needles and mistaken monster men but my bird you sing like half of death and I crack the tablet on which I lay and you are one half of the dead men man I think man but was he real.