I'm In The Grip Of A Hurrican

I'm Going To Blow Myself Away

No More Dreaming Of The Dead As If Death Itself Was Undone

No More Calling Like A Crow For A Boy For A Body In The Garden

Your home is a box, your car is a box in wheel, you drive to work in it, you drive home it. You sit in your house staring into a box, it erodes you soul where the box that is your body inevitably withers and dies. Where upon it is placed in the ultimate box to slowly decompose.