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As written in the booklet:

In this image, the air sits as still as it were painted on a canvas

Blue smoke, of joys gone, is still here

Cloaking a soul sold to method and number

Sold, as if the devil's deal had fallen short

Now spooked by the ink of his own pen

The map of a life lived, and the beta versions all over the floor, have all gone awry

All the lines are spidering from here to there, and then back again

For the purpose, they are too thin

And they make no sense

At the end of the day

By and between the devil and me

This agreement is made and entered into

A moth on the back wall

He witnessed and then carried on with his own business