This state it cannot be sound For seeing through The day with fresh eyes Try to lick these bits Back into place These tanks bore there wintry weight To wake to these scraps of morn It bears a stone And that's what i've become These legs are built upon a surly demise We all reach for a hand in which we will guide Let's sit quiet and we shall not stir Your mouth is fragrant And lassoing this room And never is too long to date Your crusty petals are prying away Pails of cheer have become stains
