we're inexhaustible
it's so we won't think
we have that excuse
it's so we won't here
we have our reason
all the dead voices
they make a noise like wings
like leaves
like sand
like leaves
they all speak at once
each one to itself
rather they whisper
they rustle
they murmur
they rustle
what do they say
they talk about their lives
to have lived is not enough for them
they have to about it
to be dead is not enough for them
it is not sufficient
they make a noise like feathers
like leaves
like ashes
like leaves
say something
i'm thinking
say anything at all
what do we do now
wait for godot
