God Has A Brown Voice, As Soft

I Tell You What You’ll Never Really Know: All The Medical Hypothesis That Explained My Brain Will Never Be As True As These Struck Leaves Letting Go.

I've Grown Tired Of Love You Are The Trouble With Me I Watch You Walk Right By

Everyone In Me Is A Bird I Am Beating All My Wings

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.

Unless I Can Shake Myself Free Of My Dog, My Flag, Of My Desk, My Mind, I Find Life A Bit Of A Drag. Not Always, Mind You. Usually I'm Like My Frying Pan Useful, Graceful, Sturdy And With No Caper, No Plan.