It's everywhere, the tension, the death, it's everywhere.
Can't run from food, no sir.
Anorexia is very fashionable in my city.
Bulimia, sorry to say, is never fashionable.
I shiver, but not as hard as I used to.
I cave in my stomach, but not as far as it used to.
I slowly earn my gravity.
Less dizzy, I never knew how pleasurable down could be.
My mouth has become a sacred place,
Cradling a cornucopia of life,
ten little pounds,
I'm desperate to accept
the way my footsteps sound.