They Still Remain
The dancing spots float in my vision, left behind by blinding light,
The residual blots of ink, splattering my line of sight.
Everywhere I turn, they're there, the imprints, each leaving their mark.
My stubborness to keep on staring can only be dispelled by dark.
And even then, in orbs of colours, purple, dreamy, visions past--
The more I stare, the more I see, the longer they are sure to last.
Now to remove them, to see clearly, I must look to other wiles,
To the cracks up in the ceiling, To the floor, it's checkered tiles.
Away from that one searing source
Away from that one searing source Away from the lights fighting flare,
Away from that one searing source Away from the lights fighting flare, Away from all the pounding dots,
--- Away! As if I never cared.