They have taken the door, the bed and the light-bulbs Free-thinkers without a cause, the rusty pipes, the pile of coins Up and down the stairs, I'm counting what's left. You're right at the core of everything that burst; we still have The present tense
Daydreaming, True love waits. In a cup, held with both hands, in the forest, wooden liquid confused about its purpose in your guidance. We're out of tea and a real place to sit There's blood in the sink, green paint everywhere, it's in the air It's maddening, don't breathe.
There's time in the organs of a house the stairs, the blame, the fear of settling down. The life-support of a city seeping into a room too empty to be so full of us and of stains to clean. They've taken away the ghost; unburdened, we drink.
Terrible births have been poured; kind hands take away the empty bowl.