Garbage spilt across the moonwalk
Rushing to the gutter
You must be the hunter
Nothing's in the bread
It's all gold and glitter
In the mourning I saw the dawn
And your face resembled the sun
Costs for coats rise with the tides
Juice from the earth
Tainted at birth
Stumps sometimes talk to me
Their knowledge is their girth
A repeating course
Paused only when we meet
The clouds spurt stars
Creatures birth creatures
But they can't be called creatures
Solid soil poured over us
In a shower of mothers
Your hands are covered in sap
Someones head is in my lap
And our fingers overlap
Poison feelings delivered by bus
In a box of tissues
Issues between the lines
Fantasy comes through the door
Holds you tight
Won't let you go
There's no money for the poor
And ain't it love?