Put Your Ear Down Close To Your

I'm The Crazy One Who Thinks That Words Reach People.

Fear / A Motor, / Pumps Me Around And Around / Until I Fade Slowly.

Once I Was Beautiful. Now I Am Myself, Counting This Row And That Row Of Moccasins Waiting On The Silent Shelf.

Yes I Try To Kill Myself In Small Amounts, An Innocuous Occupation. Actually I'm Hung Up On It.

Everyone In Me Is A Bird I Am Beating All My Wings