I might reply: nothing but
So neural and nervous oh
So neural and nervous oh
And you might ask me what
I might reply: nothing but
That wing on your head
That bell in your bed—agitated
You might ask me why
I might reply I'm just trying
To get by
Locked into that locked-out sensation
A confession penned
By the hand to the mouth
Of the fear of being eaten
You might ask me what
And I might reply:
We're ready already