Snowballs roll up into juicy hot drops
When geometric bodies lose their balance
A force a dot a bat are dancing
Up on the wire in the night's old noises
Among the circus lights chaotic
The wind and audience are laughing
I'm seven hundred broken pieces
A circle core and all the wiring
Stuck in a shape of absence
Of empty floating clouds and dreams
I'm you and what you're missing
I'm songs of what this used to be.