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A man should die gaunt, |
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And not bloated and overdone, |
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There should be new words hidden, |
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In the shadows on his face, |
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And like a wine glass, in a perfect pitch, he breaks, |
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We're being dumped into order out of buckets of sea salt, |
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What was the first condiment? |
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But always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel, |
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Or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't |
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Flowers are how plants laugh, |
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And not by joke or to ridicule, |
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I never saw my parents, |
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Try to make a thing like me |
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In time in the bathroom mirror, |
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I learned to accept my body. |
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I got jumped into living by a coven of midwives, |
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Under a dracula-caped eclipse, |
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Like cutting through watermelon meat with a wire, |
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You shoot sick from the hip and never miss. |
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All the things inside me i assume, |
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Are doing what they need to be doing, |
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And always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel, |
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Or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't. |
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Always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel, |
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Or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't. |
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Looks like a sky for shoeing horses under.. |
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Looks like a sky, of some kind |
