Here I am still intact, and I should give myself credit for that, but I
have cast a stone deep into my throat, I squat on land my feet won't
reach, the smell of blood and bile and bleach, I need a square foot and
a rope. We can weave, we can unravel, we keep on sleeping right through
our travels, we can weave, we can unravel, take our confusion to a much
lighter level. Spit it up and hand it over to yet another child of
squallor, pallid wheezing lost all her color, her dark circles getting
darker, he crossed her palm, but nothing seems to wake her from her
shitty dreams, now she's become just one more helpless package of doom.
The city looks especially vindictive tonight, that hitchhiker looks like
he's headed home to murder his wife, well it's a proven fact they don't
respond to every call for help in time, so there she stays, poor little
girl, lying on the floor of a dirty bathroom, no folks there's no
device, no box of gods to descend and take this tragedy, tie up all the
loose ends.