| She walked
|
| Her head hung down
|
| Watching her feet
|
| Move on their own
|
| Restless hands
|
| Grasped at things
|
| No one else could see
|
| Dark circles watch
|
| As eyes grow wide
|
| Guardians of her gaze
|
| A high red flush
|
| Of something wrong
|
| Stained the hills of her face
|
| Midsummer blazed
|
| Her rotting cage
|
| Death took his hat off
|
| At the grave
|
| The scarecrows drape the colored page
|
| Marking giant mistakes
|
| Getting stronger in pain of
|
| These special things
|
| All wrapped in plain
|
| And no one saw
|
| Pale shoulders shake
|
| Passed over for
|
| Shinier things
|
| For brighter birds
|
| With bigger wings
|
| Take up all of the cracks
|
| Nothing left for the faint
|
| This poisoned mouse
|
| With paws on stars
|
| Mottled gray fur
|
| Ignored
|
| She quickly dreams of fall
|
| Where brighter flowers dive
|
| And bend
|
| Quicksand’s
|
| Right hand
|
| Weighs in
|
| Low weathers
|
| Greatest friend
|
| Wet breath in shallow lungs
|
| That drown
|
| Quick hands
|
| Like doves
|
| The scarecrows drape
|
| The colored page
|
| Gaping selfish mistakes
|
| Grinning wider each day
|
| Growing stronger in pains
|
| Of these special things
|
| All wrapped up in plain
|
| An imbeciles glory day
|
| Spitting coins at the fade
|
| Of these special things
|
| Twilight final soft claim
|
| All wrapped up in plain
|
| All wrapped up in plain
|
| These special things |