The fingers of the hand think they are free.

The people of the land think they can see.

They don't know what lies beyond.

The photographs of eyes upon the wall.

She hears it in the silence, hears the call.

The visions of light and violence, she sees it all.

She don't know what lies beyond.

Like a box with no holes save the very smallest pin.

The shapes coming in are construed as good or sin.

There is nothing in this universe save us and empty space.

But go far enough the other way and you will see God's face.

The forms are calling out inside her dreams.

She sees the threads that make the seams.

She makes the cut and pulls.

She don't know what lies beyond.

She cannot hear nor see

The slice of a slice of a slice

Of something moving before her.

Something unlike matter strikes her with a force that

Turns her blood into cobalt and eyes into fire.

She becomes undone like a ragdoll in a furnace.

And suddenly the seams are stitched.

And she wakes up.

She don't know what lies beyond.