The Golden Veign: You Told Me If I Dug Too Deep, I'd Find Too Much.

Between the walls of my memory
you scratch gently on dusty neurons.
A sensation, ancient and crippled
illuminates this space.

You scratch gently on dusty neurons,
prying minerals out of folds in the gray matter.
Illuminate this space.
You open your fingers and clay clings to your palms.

Prying minerals out of folds in the gray matter
you find what you came back for.
You open your fingers and clay clings to your palms
with the contract that I had lost

You find what you came back for:
A sensation, ancient and crippled
with the contract that I had lost
between the walls of my memory.