The Woods (Balthasar Wood And Wagon Threepwood) Poem by Pierre Rausch

Down the first floor to the station, south the frequency, the
rails, south to station, the ground,
plattered steel, down the radios to the headquarter,
windowcleaner
Against the unsolved fog of the conquest. someone isn't
talking
Against the hermestatic comprehension
Love grows then rots away
It’s the 21st century
You'd play a hand
A shade came down.
Balthasar Wood & Wagon Threepwood
South to the floor, it will be a tunnel, it was a hat
Desolation: Archives of Coal
Balthasar Wood & Wagon Threepwood
Down the glasswind, the hail that to be rain, down the
sounds & cloud to the underpath
Finding logistic, tramping nowhere
Balthasar Wood & Wagon Threepwood
Balthasar Wood & Wagon Threepwood
If you're in the forest, I'll give you at wood
With a car to grandmother, phoned into the seat, tolls on
trucks, the screens broke on vitesse,
With bambussticks, the brother step instead
Trembling, I am the brick that speaks, electrobeat, the
woods
Wagon Threepwood
Balthasar Wood
We are districts, we're in the neighborhood
If you're in the forest, I'll give you at wood
Rufius & Orleander
Kate & Clyde