The human body always caves in on itself When I think about it, it's like 1979 How far away from that behaviour am I? In air there is nothing, you're in it, across from me Walls are men hiding And doors are men coming And chairs are men waiting And men are things nothing A deeply felt well rankled by indifference Not turned from but left in suppliant waste Fear of loss of momentum informs everything And stages melt, one into another Walls are men hiding And doors are men coming And chairs are men waiting And men are things nothing