S.O.S

I wish I could express in words and numbers

The examples given reduced me by means I had not;

The vultures escaped fathom by using their wings

All of the ways you’ve given to me

Taken against the will,

My hands wrote the letters to your numbers,

Addressed to whom it wasn’t concerned 

Thousands of pages in my unwritten books

And all of the ways you’ve given to me

I wish I could hear the words when you numbered me

The fraction of me that holds on to the rails

The Phoenix of which he rises 

Thousands of pages in my unwritten books

And all of the ways you’ve given to me

Taken against my own will,

Your hands wrote my numbers and sent the letters; it’s my regret to inform you

Spewing out of the crevice in which we stood

The Phoenix of which he rises 

Thousands of pages in my unwritten books

And all of the ways you’ve given to me

Divided among us,

Clothes lines bearing a load 

Where on telephone poles we see the pigeons sitting above, judging our every moment

Thousands of pages in my unwritten books,

And all of the ways you’ve given to me

Multiplied by the factor

I wish I could hear the numbers when you wrote me your letter,

And on Telegraph the words I may not transmit

All of the ways you’ve taken me

And all of what matters when added 

Some of us would rather not number our days

But it’s the words that always mattered