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Drying Stains Spell things in words uneasily |
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In crowded pens |
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A drying mouth's final |
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Hiss of growing limbs |
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Faster than the skin |
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The arrows pointing to the thunder of the tanks in vacant lots |
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Down dark pathways |
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Special paintings line the wall |
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The ghastly glow of broken saints |
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The cheeks of working flames burn blue |
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And spit out words see what we've done we stayed up all this life for you and now you owe this much for good |
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Here on your shoulders till we're |
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When at first it's all in fun once |
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White's misshapen eyes glued shut then |
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In Words |
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In Pens |
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In Limbs faster than the skin |
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Sick limp of Tin on Tongue shoulders pushing through |
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Cut line In Waves of Blue hiss of growing limbs live ice |
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In reams of tin |
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All in Crowded Pens |
