Now here you come again to fetch me from the sea, Ballast in my bones, this girl was born to sink; A cautionary tale, I slip between the wood, Limbs whittled thin and feet stained with soot.
But never-mind the waif; she waxes so pale Drunk on dejection, I ponder the veil Leaden and listless, for the sirens will sing: Amaranthine is the color I bleed for the sea.
So I’ll spit out my sorrows wherever they listen, Pumped me with pills and said that they fixed it. The darlings have died off; the dolls are all broken, Just left is me, thin-skinned and soft spoken.
And I’d rather lick knives than chew on love’s gristle, Like a dog on a chain, I’d run when you whistle. Far from it now, yet lost in the maze: Chasing ways out for the rest of my daze.