This state it cannot be sound 
For seeing through 
The day with fresh eyes 
Try to lick these bits 
Back into place 
These tanks bore there wintry weight 
To wake to these scraps of morn 
It bears a stone 
And that's what i've become 
These legs are built upon a surly demise 
We all reach for a hand in which we will guide 
Let's sit quiet and we shall not stir 
Your mouth is fragrant 
And lassoing this room 
And never is too long to date 
Your crusty petals are prying away 
Pails of cheer have become stains