boxes made from pine, i'm dreaming of eternal rest
your copy of infinite jest we chose to leave behind
the residue from his insides
control yourself, you wicked citizen of this great settlement
i stood there near your mess
in class when we'd watch films from France
at 8 o'clock a.m
i'd sit in darkness wondering if i would die that way
boxes made from pine, i ask you, eternal rest
to show me what strange place is next
and who i'll leave behind
i'll have splinters from the boards that house me underground
would you meet me halfway down and turn the page over for me
long white candles without scent
defeat me, life i've led of evening tears, be still;
i'll bleed a pool into your hands
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