It's dark at 4 pm in Leeds   The steeples pierce the skylight till the last of it bleeds   The absent sound of another day as it recedes   Into the shadows until it's nothing      Fax papers slipped under the hotel room door   Like food for the prisoner or the prospect to the whore   Well fed and halfway drunk I ache myself for more   Until I'm shadows of myself, until I'm nothing      Sixteen black churches burning on the TV   All the way from Texas to Tennessee   And a politician locks my eye and says to me   There is no crisis here there's no conspiracy      I crave inertia every move made so I can stop   Whatever this madness is in me spinning like a top   On a bed of anxiety over a deep dark drop   Down into nothingness into without youness      Was it ever so the evil creep like ivy   A toe hold on the stronger half of nature's dichotomy   I'm beating back a path through nothing more than pure insistence   Until here becomes the distance      Hold my head love I'm sick tonight   Find the open hole and press your fingers there with all your might   Before the last ounce of my spirit bleeds   Onto the pristine sheets of the hotel bed in Leeds