Seem to haunt this icy REM fugue of mine

The pixilated arcs of a black box imagery

That pours freely through my damaged skull

And feeds the wireless archive of my mems

Of skirmishes fought and burning planets

And rows of literally heartless gypsy women

Pining for the stars in spaceport bars

And too the instruments of dark mercy

That kept me stitched and battle starched

So dull the brightness down a tich

Sharpen the noise and she's still alive

A wraith so poised and willful at trail's end

That her hair glowed like rogue electrons

Twining around those almond nuclei