Lyric

Noon lays flat across the room

The wall gives back more light than form

A quiet place is what they call it

But even breathing comes in sharp

It isn’t loud

It doesn’t rush

It just keeps pressing

Without a touch

I hold my face in working order

The ordinary stays too long

By the time I find the name for it

Bleached Wall Noon is on me

The hallway hum becomes a needle

Each polished edge turns hard and bright

I answer slow and look composed

While all this white leans into sight

No broken glass

No siren sound

Just too much daylight

In a square white room

I keep my hands where they belong

The blankness will not let me leave

By the time it gathers into shape

Bleached Wall Noon is on me

Not a fire

Not a warning

Just a wall that learned the sun too well

And rang inside me

I keep the calm they always notice

But all that white keeps crossing through

When the room finally has a body

Bleached Wall Noon looks back at me