I dig; soft, soaked soil.Rain makes soft, soaked wood.The shovel,"clank!" on the closed chest below.You dig; through storms and stars.We'd just been born.The shovel,"clank!" on the closed casket below.The worm digs; cracks through the clay.Leaving tracks that trail through time.The shovel,his soft skin, he wishes to go home again.I dig, you dig and the worm digs too.We'd just been born.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
I dig; soft, soaked soil.Rain makes soft, soaked wood.The shovel,"clank!" on the closed chest below.You dig; through storms and stars.We'd just been born.The shovel,"clank!" on the closed casket below.The worm digs; cracks through the clay.Leaving tracks that trail through time.The shovel,his soft skin, he wishes to go home again.I dig, you dig and the worm digs too.We'd just been born.