| In a chalk dotted line
|
| Draw a kid, left behind
|
| Severed limbs in harmony
|
| Strumming from a few good deeds
|
| Carry it to survive
|
| To a bed half alive
|
| Held before a dozen times
|
| Deep inside a funeral for a friend:
|
| Runs in portions like film clips
|
| Run, run
|
| Rundown the list
|
| The memoirist
|
| Like kindling
|
| Burn, burn, burn, and burn down
|
| I will stay inside
|
| The saved
|
| It’s a good mourning
|
| They will ignite you (soon)
|
| The doomed
|
| I will write for you
|
| Of a boy, damaged goods
|
| Of a bench, understood
|
| For a spell, the soul resides
|
| In a yellow chalk outline
|
| Carry on the camel’s back
|
| Have another heart attack
|
| To the cure I would drive
|
| Played that scene a hundred times to date
|
| Today’s ambition, to relate
|
| In a sustaining saccharine state
|
| Impart the burden and get well
|
| It’s what everyone’s trying to sell
|
| Anything you want it to be
|
| Weigh the screenplay and revise
|
| Warp, warp, warp with the contortionist
|
| So hopelessly ill-fated everyday
|
| He will stay inside
|
| The doomed
|
| It’s a good mourning to loom
|
| They will inspire him
|
| The saved Innocently filling graves |