Corps sans lettre

I’m not dead, I’m in limbo
And the middle of the room is just
Where I happened to crumple.

I’m not dead, I’m in limbo
And I’m snorting the dust
From this fancy rag that I’m hugging.
I’m not dead.

I thought you were dead
When I saw you humbled
I thought you were dead
When I saw your legs under your head
I thought you were dead,
You’ve always been trouble,
But I’m glad you’re not dead;
I still need the trouble;
Ah, to hate, to love, to hate, to love, to hate,
What a wonderful cycle…

Roll me over, slap my hand,
Pinch my cheeks, make them red.
Roll me over, I’ll recover,
Make me whole, now or never;
I’m between this very this,
And that, very that.

I’m not dead.

"I'm not dead", David Running , in "Quell, Quench".