Irises

Oh, when you're walking on creakin' woods of light Every waking hour of the passing night Taken by a scent of early dawn looking at you now From a touch I hear the timbre of your blade Earning soft and all the vessels of an animal so kind Mind is spinning and my senses now, are turning into what Into what? Am I ill or have I finally found the pill Simple remedy for days of long and empty whitewashed halls Now you're calling out and panesthesia takes a hold on me On me On me Irises of auburn, ringing from the nurse's eyes And singing, as they pass me by They sound like