This slow and steady falling
Of chaos from my mouth,
I thought we'd find some quiet
If we found our way down south,
We hold our delegations
On life and other weightless matters,
Inside a bamboo forest,
Where all the phosphorescence gathers,
The goat is bled upon the altar
For all the things we've done,
We spread his ash upon ourselves
To mourn the dying sun,
Found my hidden secret
Down the river sixty paces,
Got strangled in the safety net
And fell from his good graces.