Everything feels like a funeral, it's mine, it's the quiet in a field before a war, cold to the touch, there are dark flowers hanging over a brick wall, they are carnivorous orchids that are black and leathery, dotted in between them like an abstract puzzle coming into view there are ornate cobra lilies, past the blackwood fence a silken filly runs in a country field, her eyes are blazing and burning like red-hot cremation coals, the sky is dirty, ugly to you, and it might rain.