White clouds up ahead, float below lead, finding what is said, written in red. Pluck up, tear from a suit, a way. Cold heart, icy veins, crystal skin, snowy pain. Sharp and mellow, no bellow a blow, Closer to air and sky, than to this that lie. A silent tune, from the moon. The stars welcome not another one. Not now. Not yet. Your date is not set. Go back.