...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfw7oAGxq8Q&ab_channel=Portishead-Topic

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What a cruel, seductive voice -

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Sultry, nearly sexual 

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In the manner with which it seeks

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To casually coerce.

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Seeping, as if from the air itself and

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In all its violet-temptation, it murmurs:

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"My, you must be so tired."

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"What a stretch to've run,"

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"What grave turns of fate."

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It motions as if a woman

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Drawing hose down the length of her thigh.

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"Why don't you lay here beside me,"

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"All layered in-between ~ these feather-beds of nothing."

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"Sleep with me," it says,

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"Sleep, and leave it all behind."

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"Let go all thoughts of morning, or the morrow"

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"And bury yourself in the comfort of my abandon"

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"In all its gentle escapism,"

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"Its anesthetic and its sorrow."

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"No." I tell it, even then as if unconvinced.

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It's hard to hold ambition,

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Hunger, and determination

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When falling into a death-sentence

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Personified by a pillow.

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And I'd prefer not to sleep, at all,

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Than to forget 

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About the purpose and precisions

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Within the pressures of tomorrow.

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Author's Note

Like Tin-men, rust and rain - it's poorly out of practice