Hinterland

So slowly falls the orange moon, the parting of her vague environs
Eight notes drop like somber pests
Her sun hat explodes
In dusty pink, in dusty blue
Oh the hazy orange moon

Well, this must be living in the box
Breathing maelstroms of her youth
Such a plaything of her gods, the fondness of our institutes
Rather weak, exclusion zone, now – communion

So slowly falls the orange moon, while monsoon's children shriek delight
Kill offenders of her faith, sleep inside her pastel palm
Et ceteras laugh at you
Dusty pink lips dusty blue
Wishy-washy, dubbing's shrewd
Weightlessness, all ladies should
All ladies should