Meet me in the blue bed, I'll be drying out your flaws. And clawing out to cause my knees to tremble. Meet me in the back shed, I'll be hanging up the knives.
I had a feeling you broke and the smoke filled you up. I wasn't thinkin' 'bout you. You have a mind that makes sight of the weight you pick up. I wasn't thinkin' 'bout you.
I could build a big machine. Draw pictures for the walls. Hang up all my fragile thoughts. Display that you might see. A space, a drop, a cloth. A comfort of frailties in me.