Trace the veins on your arm.
Count the polka dots of rain,
if it prevents you from harm,
if it distracts you from pain.

Celebrate the mundane in the place of the divine.
Casting a line to the other side.

Alone in a room she's renaming the colors underneath the sun.
In a lucid dream I tried to bring back things
I found for you in the ground.
In made-up towns with fabricated skies of blue,
but I couldn't bring them back from the dimension of black and white.

They were trapped above the sun.
Wait for me underneath the sun in the black and white.