Copia

Find Copia, Eluvium, that's the one. Play it. Fill a bath with warm water and wandering ambience, let it sink through your temples and directly into the memories of / Take yourself back to the moments of obscurity, the shadowed familiarity and dense patterns of unspoken reality. Fragile and alone, six feet above the ground, encased in wire, cheap furniture, and the sound of late nights, ignorance, and constant / The comfortable territory of that which makes you uncomfortable becomes the very plane that shapes interaction, the known / the pleasant, yet feared / Find Copia, stare at the ceiling thirteen inches from your eyes, the paint meant to say nothing is a heart, something its own. Every night is spent with Copia, filling the thirteen thousand foot dome of darkness, closed eyes, star spangled spectacle / Filling the lungs with frequency, filling the heart with hopelessness, to love this is to never leave it behind, carry it with you, make it your own. That's the one, use it to build a wall for one thousand miles and never let them in, use Copia, your defense, your home, destroy vulnerability, create the ultimate space between the real and / Find Copia, hold close the tone of tenderness touched by turmoil, hold close the waste of friendships, hold close the strange fondness of familiarity, and then pour it into the fifty minute void of Copia, and be released.