Drapes of golden mesh hang from the skeleton
In the black a spark can pierce it paper thin
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
Termites in the spine and lungs of fiber glass
Heart of lead soft in the overflowing grass
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
Mouth of moss, green teeth and eyes of frozen milk
Sores open, the air turns skin to rotting silk
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home
I’m already going home