well let the poets cry themselves to sleep. and all their tearful words will turn back into steam. but me, i'm a single cell on a serpent's tongue. there's a muddy field where a garden was. i'm glad you got away, but im still stuck out here. my clothes are soaking wet from your brother's tears. and i never thought this life was possible. you're the yellow bird that i've been waiting for. the end of paralysis. i was a statuette. now im drunk as hell on a piano bench. and when i press the keys, it all gets reversed. the sound of loneliness makes me happier