Anatomy of a morning
With my right hand
I tear out my throat
As I slice through the skin
The cartilage crashes
The giddy garden
Is no salamander
With its tail between its legs
To break and fuse is not to lose
With my right hand
I tear out my throat
As I slice through the skin
The cartilage crashes
The giddy garden
Is no salamander
With its tail between its legs
To break and fuse is not to lose