The dark is pressing – shifting – chill -
a cloud that spreads against our will.
Its clammy kiss is in the wind -
whispering – that we have sinned.
It seeps through walls – it creeps through doors -
it flows in through our very pores.
There’s nowhere clean, there’s no escape -
it is a slow, an endless rape.
It is the dry. It is the wet.
It fills us up so we forget.
We suck it up, we breathe it in -
we whisper – that we like to sin.
It’s gentle, gentle – we declare -
It is just water – and just air.
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