Into the Forest of Acedia
where the artist dreams alone
where the killers and the anchors
and the gods are born
you're getting lost in the perfect void
you're following the silk threads
shining off the candlelight
guided by the glow from the fireflies
the further you seek
the further you hide
to the canopy of grafted trees
you can weave, you can weave alone
you've found nowhere
no need to share
just paint
your perfect nowhere
now you have created the web
you have caught yourself in
this perfect nowhere
so go to sleep
go to sleep
disappear
now the boy is ink
disappearing blind and senseless
he crawls into the arms of a birch tree to sleep
and as the outside world starts to move faster
he is held in the slow, slow hours
of this hibernation place
the forest whispers a lullaby hush
jeng jengy jeng
a deep spell of lethargy
spinning him slowly into slumber
ready or not, here she comes
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