We are too civil to books. For a few golden sentences we will turn over and actually read a volume of four or five hundred pages.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Cuckoo Cocoon
Wrapped up in some powdered wool-I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me I'm dying, 'cause I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked up in some Brooklyn jail
Or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No, I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave,
What could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?