歌词
Ear to the ground I sift through
Piles of falling letters
Copying keys roll down my sleeves
A part of the hanging garden
Of the city
Downtown the sounds of single
People doing nothing
Nose to the wall I follow
Paths of tiny fissures
Falling trapeze, the Japanese
Are watching the garden growing
On an island
Surround the mound and run your
Fingers through the filings