Intro

Ann-Katrin (Ann-Catherine), Ann-Katrin, Ann-Katrin fare the well
you stand there with eyes so vividly clear
only there's something inside them quite missing I think

Go, this evil light
never more Antabus
or these barbiturates that take
everyone they wish if we
take them any time we want

That kind of death is like
the waiting room of death by minutes

You're waiting on a tale told from up above
something surely must reach you
only it's just a damaged damn painting
you already should've known about

You can't ever be forever invulnerable
can't always be the last one standing
Sometimes Ann-Katrin, you simply got to give your farewells
best you can find them here around

Heard you practice with that darkness, twisted cloud
you've been carrying around
that came from somewhere up above
like a telegram reading
"Return, please, cloud"
Get that girl that long-sleeved dress
you always wondered if she wanted to wear
we know, we know, don't even know what we missed
says the clouding over of sky

The tale told is one of Ann-Katrin's
but the words are taken from the makers of heroines
a story about a cloud they send out
that then lets them take command

Every attempt at rescue a warrant
every trial one of missings
at least they know what to do, they say
then claim counting backwards for themselves

"Well all that does is make you backwards, baby,
all you're doing is counting backwards at me
until you stand there again, cloud in your arms saying
"hello there my love, there you are again, aren't we?
Little tuft of clouds, stumbling blue--"

"It isn't blue, really, it's more akin to grey-lit dawn
that little cloud is white and full of static
if it was a radio it would stay between channels 3 and 4
and it wouldn't ever be quiet

It'd stay on *kssstchzhhshhhhh*
until you were so sick of feeling that way
you'd try your hand at something stupid
like shooting up again
with a little tuft of clouds the only one
you then see turn away

You say little tuft of clouds, so blue
You say beloved Ann-Katrin, I know it's hard
but try to leave it be,
I know it's too much, I know it's too much
it's just I am tired of seeing your eyes turn opaque
saying nothing more than
"Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.."

Even more tired I have become, love,
of having to count your breaths just to know
they are there at all

Probably something like that,
you feel from time to time
It's just I worry even when you feel nothing
when you're feeling that tuft of cloud

Oh, little one, you who carry all of those things
that long sleeves were meant to hide
until they don't hide a goddamn thing anymore
one knows when your eyes begin saying

"Hello, hello hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.. "

While over your head a night-black condor calls,
sings about a tap from which drops fall, drop, drop,
drops falling after drops fall, drops fall
and you, without even any water left at all


Author's Note:

Molntuss is both a person, as in the innocent part of addiction that doesn't understand more than need/want on the level of neurological impulse. In my mind, it's the part of me that is around 7 years old, reacting to a world outside based on that most basic of places. The heart.

Molntuss is also the addiction itself to something that casts shadows over most of everything besides itself simply by existing. The heart holds on to the addiction, like a favorite toy, not because of the entertainment factor but because it knows it can cure that problem. The soul at addiction's edge, dancing.

Molntuss is also the mind of perspective, reasoning and understanding why what happens keeps happening. Not only to oneself, but as a whole. The problem when taken seriously, but also the fact that it's here, somewhere, it's so easy to forget about heart and soul and think you can think yourself out of a place built of non-logical responses, logical conclusions and often, sheerest hope over regrets and hitting rock bottom-drops.

Hope that helps someone. I think it might have helped me to write this, so that will have to do. Can't do more than what I can.

J.