He was asking for an accident

And he had asked for it so long

It was quiet conspicuity
It was a whisper of a song
And whether mid-day,
night, or morning

I could have sworn that it had gone

"Let me in, let me in"

I could have sworn that it had gone

"Let it out, let it out"

I could have sworn that it had gone

"Pick it up, put it down,"

It was frightened ambiguity
Dandelioning along
It was frozen in the postal-state
It was a letter never drawn

Tremors halving contiguity
Whatever I'd like, whatever I'd like

Tomorrow towards the turnpike's tongue

It was quiet, but I knew it wasn't right

his thrill against the widow's cord;

snakes his fingers in the web

eight aching, crawling branches

where his hands have met her legs

six sick fingers on the mend

I let the wind come

and do nothing about it

I let the wind come,

and do nothing about it

Somewhere in the madness, basking in the summer heat
I wish I knew the castles that would crumble at your feet
‘Cause when it’s cold here, I’m a soldier, getting too used to defeat
What a silly, helpless fool, remembering a time when I was queen

I’m great at talking

Not so great at holding it inside

I’m great at walking

Not so great at taking it in stride

I took up the bottle to talk to myself
But I don’t like what he’s saying
Tap me out throw in a ringer
I’m losing my grip cause I’m losing my fingers