Spatial Tap

"Roll away, roll away, the man on the lantern, baby."
"You still singin 'at?"
The footage isn't grainy, everything is just soft and unfocused, the fence posts growing up out of the tall grass, no sound as the train goes by, smiling as it messes up hair, tapping your foot on the corrugated floor of the train, water from boots running through the tiny ditches, hands in the pockets, cold and warm, gravels crunches and feet kick around, still frames like moving footage, everything through a window. Off the train and into the basket, basket creaks, ropes pulled away, still frames like moving footage, can't make out faces, every second hand in the world, every clock is ticking, I can do a better impression of time than that, clocks don't look anything like it.