I got them ol' Göbekli Tepe blues.
They cannot know what we called ourselves,
Or who we were,
But the vulture takes us home.
Landscape's rippling dream.
It come over you at any time, any where.
At any age.
Like you are falling,
Or about to,
Faces in the water.
In a room where fire never was,
We were freezing.
Most were so busy talking they could not hear
The little language of other.
Or what was like wings far away.
If you could see what your face was saying,
You would not stick around either.
A system of circles seen from above,
And movement within,
It makes a sense now...