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Recorded: November 18th, Adelaide, South Australia.

The Poet's Lullaby.

Who sings the poet to sleep,

when the words don't stop dancing,

amongst a mind too soft for the pillow,

amongst a mind

cut too sharp

that couldn't

wouldn't

lay flat amongst the sheets of the navy sky.

There must be a lullaby for the poet's mind,

a bench to sit on behind closed eyelids,

to let dreams play,

unfurling and                                    recoiling,

nightmaring,

tip-    toeing

wandering the liminal space

between the subconscious mind and the future heart.

Can the poet fall asleep

tasting their own medicine

listening to the music they composed

toiling on the words that carved their foundations.

a lullaby surely soothes the soul of the cracked heart

pouring balm into the waterways

that broke free,

hoping to find love in other places

when the world stopped singing

Yet the poet,

malnourished by a world lacking feeling

starving for something real

seeks out the silence that follows a whisper

aching for a desert

desiring one instant

for time to freeze.

Give the poet nothing,

deprive them of everything

and only then will you hear,

the sweetest lullaby

beacuse it was deprivation,

that put the poet to sleep.

A world of stimulation,

killed the poet.

and

bled them dry,

of every

single

word.