Silence will make us pay for our sleep

I slept for a few minutes on the bus to Plymouth. I didn't really dream, but I woke with the line in my head: "But death had its teeth in her wrist already." This is possibly from telling rushthatspeaks about the graffito of the wolf devouring the sun, which someone has been updating since we first saw it in early September. (I am waiting to see if by midwinter the sun will be gone entirely. It will become officially the best piece of graffiti, ancient or modern, I have ever seen if so.) Possibly it's for other reasons. Unless it turns out a poem, I'm not sure I appreciate it either way. I'm going to distract myself by reading about An-sky. I still haven't gotten used to the idea of wireless on a bus.