it comes hunting for me through the tunnels of the night. a tidal wave high wall of pure silence. it is the dark which calls the demon asleep inside everyone, the demon of absolute, unending, uninterrupted, spherically perfect silence - and in the way everything in the cosmos is a metaphor for something else, this silence could be read to be a metaphor for the glacial ice-ocean the thinking self would be buried in after physiological death. Like pre-historic mammoths spookily fossilised in their entirety miles below the surface in the ice steppes of Siberia, the thinking self shall find itself frozen under the ocean of ice, with only solid, translucent ice stretching away for miles in every direction the eye can see.