Is that just rust in the mist of your eyenThat lets out those bellowing sighs?nOr is it just heads of cats in a bag moaning like ancient kings?nnThey pound in cupboards that I forgotnHumming their hymn of dusty echoesnSpreading and staining throughout the nightnShedding out galaxies bright and yellownThat cannot be the one you wantnNature forbiddennShifting slylynJoining a band of misers nAnd these craters of doves are cooing blindlynnSo tell all your ones and I’ll tell all my onesnThat she lives off black moths at nightnShe’s having a seizure in dark alleyways and she’snCoughing up globs of lightnnSo you’ve got these rusty homesnAnd I’ve got these bags of bonesnYou’d stab all my fears with invisible spearsnAnd yet, you do have nonennIs that just rust in the mist of your eye?nIs it just that that bellows and sighs?nShe’s got the heads of cats in a bagnnI’m late for the Residue HymnsnNow I’m here, but I don’t see themn