Each one against himself. Forgotten, we are forgetting. 

Hallucinating. Language is happily buried. 

Layer by layer. Into a metaphor. Into nothing. 

 

The flood is at its peak. Waiting on God. To forget. 

Built into a warm sediment of You-Me. 

 

We are afraid of nothing. Freedom is an unpleasant nothing. 

We discover each other’s memories, but we don’t remember anything. 

 

Slowly, slowly we become a forbidden song, 

a cosmic glue and the tenth dimension. 

And you just want to be forgotten. 

 

Forgotten, we are forgetting.