It's too early to hang our heads
Sunken eyes set in
Under your skin
I'm counting ways to make a mess of
Things I say that I don't mean are catching up with me
In a sweet charade, an iron gate playing a fence

I might end up entering
What is space not meant to see
Hallways misinforming you
All the while I'm clearing spaces on shelves
Helps me find it
Misery, estate sale digging on a saturday

You got sick of dining alone
It gnaws at the bones within you
With marrow crushing your teeth
Stuck on the outside looking in through window pains
Tangled up, solid chains

Buried in coffee cans
No rest for anyone following the grave
Makes you sick to your stomach
I might end up entering
Misery, estate sale digging on a saturday