It's one of those times
When I think maybe
My tongue's been cut out,
Hidden somewhere I can't find-
And it's not quite identification,
But I've got my heart out on this plate
And it's flapping and beating and
I did not belive I had this much
Inside of me.
And it's not quite condolence,
But I've got a hand for you to hold
And it's severed and cold and
I did not expect rigor mortis
To happen this fast.
And it's not quite myself,
But I've got a lifetime here
And it's limp and kind of boring but
I'm realizing again
That nothing's finished yet.
-And I found my words in the kitchen drawer
And I'm almost done sewing them back on
So if you'll wait just one moment,
I need to clean the stitches.