47 : K’un


A tiny flame inside my hand – a compromise I never planned. Unravel out the finer strands. And I’m looking at a blank page now… should I fill it up with words somehow?

I whispered something in her ear… I bare my soul but she don’t hear.

The scratching of a mellotron it always seemed to make her cry. Well maybe she remembers us collecting space up in the sky.


Don’t look at me with your mother’s eyes or your killer smile.
Sing a lullaby.

[Porcupine Tree, Mellotron Scratch, da Deadwing, 2005]

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