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It's dark at four p.m. in Leeds The steeples pierce the skylight till the last of it bleeds The absent sound of another day as it recedes Into the shadows, until it's nothing Fax papers slipped under the hotel room door Like food for the prisoner and the prospect to the whore Well-fed and halfway drunk I ache myself for more Until I'm shadows of myself, until I'm nothing Sixteen black churches burning on the TV All the way from Texas to Tennessee Politician locks my eye and says to me There is no crisis here there's no conspiracy I crave inertia every move made so I can stop Whatever this madness is in me spinning like a top On a bed of anxiety over a deep dark drop Down into nothingness, into without-you-ness Was it ever so the evil creeped like ivy A toehold on the stronger half of nature's dichotomy I'm beating back a path through nothing more than pure insistence So here becomes the distance Hold my head love, I'm sick tonight Find the open hole and press your fingers there with all your might Before the last ounce of my spirit bleeds Onto the pristine sheets of the hotel bed in Leeds From Letras Mania