These sticks and stones are made of bones for I am of the earth
And everything I ever throw was welcomed at my birth
I will not speak with tired tongue, these matters will not sleep
But be there some hypocrisy, my words will swallow me
And if they do I'll make them choke until I'm fully gone
The louder parts I'll lodge inside, they'll hurt to drag along
Consider it necessity, a claim I chose to make
I'll justify with every breath, I'll bend until I break
My memory will suffocate as both my lungs collapse
From bone to ash to earth again, I'll live again perhaps