So now, you're in the closet, and I'm on that hook-- a cattle production, nine divided by ten.
The grass in your wallet, the sand on your chest, a virgin-like memory.
I can't fade, or I can't be held.
Reactionary seeds, and words of stone and salt. Anchoring a ship away from its sails.
Living a mule, burning inside of the moss. Becoming a cousin to a foreign widow.
This is how we survive, this is the means we have to breath.
We take turns in the oven, we make love to the mirrors.
The society cranks and turns, and our eyes roll inside of our skulls.