A quarter dead, and three quarters getting there
Forever has fled in the blink of my eyes are
So tired, and so dry, and so hurting
How I long to swing on Robert's tall birches
But I can't, because you won't let me
I'm so dull, because that's how you made me

So take my hand
Don't let it go
You so full of faith so full of youth

Cracking teeth, brittle bones, and plastic hips
Death's simple metaphor, tatoos and pierced lips
The sky sends pictures to sift and sort through
But all I can make is polluted air and nothing new
So here I am, so broken down
So alone like a verb without a noun