I'd like my grave how I like my women, shallow
because I'm sure they'll be the death of me
I'll be the plot back in the shadows
under the limbs of a mossy poplar tree

my personality is changing seasons
and it's messing me up beyond all reason
behind every leaf is a new part of the limb
I can feel myself flushing itself again

how exactly do the cosmos align
to create this light bulb in my mind
from holding a candle under a piece of string
to learning what it means to be a human being

emotions seem to feed themselves
the soul of the wicked is a prison cell
the moments before you scream for help
are the moments in which you truly find yourself