Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
Po o o o o o o o o o o o o o ems
To hollow all you're sown
And holler Goner, you're owned!
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you're sown
And holler Goner, you're owned!
And supposing you was meant to be bent born some sort of law man,
With the poise of an intellectual and a hunch of a clerk,
Because disposition of a saint they'd say,
He's cancel eye and ever correct
And knowing that, now are you less
In the ever so complicated endeavor of a human death
There are only two species set to death on Earth
The creature of choice
And the creature; There are only two species set to death on earth
(x2)
Where in the human
Are you?
There are two sweet seeds on Earth
There are two sweet seeds on
There are two sweet seeds on
There are two
And supposing you was meant to be bent sole keeper
Of the one kilometer-long list of things certain to be so
The human plight right there in 1s and Os
And he who knows all that's owed
You'd think would be considerably more fearless,
Unless, of course, he feels this
Heat of something coming to adjust his
Eminence accordingly
To go on stealing poems,
From the homed
Armed with only a key comb
Letter opener carved from bone wish,
With which to pick
The simple levers of locks
To fly things well beyond the eye on high sky of your clock
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
Po o o o o o o o o o o o o o ems
To hollow all you're sown
And holler Goner, you're owned!
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you're sown
And holler Goner, you're owned!
Are. To the Po o o o o o o o ems (x3)
A sunset interjects
They'll walk to the (x2)
I'm fine down here
(x2)
Cut the fabric of the black
