Flowers made of bread
I never thought
You'd be the one
To choke me in my bed
Now there's cotton
Up your nose
How are you supposed
To breathe on your own
I never wanted
To take the last ride
I never wanted
To see your last smile
And now you
Say nothing you say nothing
Say nothing hear everything
Little dog could climb
A tree
And get away from all
This insanity
It could climb
Up on the roof
And get a bird's eye view
Of everything
Watch the child across
The street
She doesn't really have a
Name, they call her girl
While standing in my soup
I never really understood
Why my feet stayed wet
When I was nine years old
All the pictures
On the walls
Were your match boxes
The last ride was short
And your last smile
Was sick and crooked
