Up in these hills,
Is a garden,
Only I know,
Up past the green eyes,
Between the mirrors,
Washed and clean,
They wait for me,
To slide across like randrops,
To melt away
Sand into spring
All the ancient warriors,
Who no longer pay the price,
Up in these hills,
There’s a height,
There’s no horizon,
There’s a weight,
There’s no carrier,
Mix up the sound,
In the silence,
and all the voices,
In a high ball glass,
Bend the grass storm,
To trick heaven,

Just a lttle tune
Baby starts to cry

And runs out of places to name
Up in these hills
Ones witness is not anothers grave,
Slowing again density and choice,
Nothings lost,
But I can’t find the sky,
Only orange light
To open every ant alien alchemy