Lyrics:

The myth is neither here nor there,
from the air.
Just like blue lake stains
on green and purified, parcelled squares:
a crazy quilt of spearmint,
of mustard and honey tones;
a scuffed-up kitchen floor of tiles
on top of bones
with a big trap door.
Towns down diagonal lines disappear
and drop out of sight
into the night beyond the national night,
and underneath the grit and glare
into unfettered nothingness and thin air,
as herds of clouds lazily graze
on thermal sighs of delight.
The Starpainters are taking over now,
their scaffolding is in its place.
Your anaesthesiologist tonight
is washing up and on her way.