And of the heart there is a bleeding
Of the heart there is a leaking
Draining hope in colored drops
That pile upon the clotted dirt
And drain our souls away

And a heart is not for thinking
No reason in a heart
A heart is not for profit
Where’s the pay for all the work?

Yet every beat will push the air
Upon a chest in slightest fashion
And heave the buttons out on standing up
And so a blanket on the back
And never quit, oh my heart in darkness still

And oh the heart is hard to write from
Better luck from brain be given
For each letter that you stroke
Like the beating of that heart
May pry you from a different beat
Of those so close and easy bruised

And like a top so hard pressed first
By sacred palm these oh so many turns ago
To spin until the revolutions stop
And wobble slowly to the end
In its last slow  electric bursts
And topple to the floor