Over sleep
Undercook
Picking Scabs
Laying myself out for the day
Pulling my feet down to the carpet

Beds were never made to die on

4,268 people will get married tomorrow,
146,357 people will die tomorrow,
Tomorrow I will be moving 2,724,666 miles per hour standing still,
Underneath 275,000,000 new stars,
Its 3 A.M. now,
Tomorrow you'll still be awake,
**** my bed,
For in it,
I turn,
And the sun looks over my shoulders

You're just a plot,
For your art is sorrow

I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
I collect my bounties under moonlight,
No sight for sore eyes on the horizon,
Guns in hand,
Cold steel for the warm ones out tonight,
I've done this for five years in my Ford Falcon,
That's the only thing he left behind for me...
I've had no other choice than running,
My fear of self engulfs all things,
I have no room to be afraid of any other,
I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
Maybe I'll dance five years more

I am on a quiet planet,
The only voice I hear is the wind,
It is a never ending mass of land,
And its eternity is orange,
I was left here alone,
I walk along the surface of great angry craters,
For me here,
Time is equivalent to madness,
You left me here for judgement,
But you,
*You should have let me die

So I sew stitches around the crown made of fingers twisted like a tangled dandelion strangled garden worn as a closet to hide my crafted paper daft boxes that I keep my skeletons in because their keyholes keep appearing on my face,
If you destroyed like me you'd see that ashes are the outcome of a matchstick man,
I cannot rest my head yet on my pillows made of dead rabbits feet and fox tails until I store them in their little coffee can tin jars far under this mattress pad of nails,
Warm words in cold rooms subsumes the silent night screens projected over by my rising motion picture smoke breath that my eyes watch alone now at a distance starting from my lucky lucky steel dagger full sized sheet set and ending at an omen reflecting my separation anxieties coming from my lungs,
Yet loneliness is the only person neatly tucked between it other than my own broken battered body with a shiver and a quiver discretely manifesting,
And like white ghosts the stars watch me sleeping at night,
You can flog all my windows,
But I'll still be sleeping at night,
I'll miss all your wake up calls,
Every single one,
So I let the music play,
Because noise cancels noise inside an introverted fire starter