Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
Horse Feathers
They move, they touch. Perhaps too much
They love to sing, only to be seen
They are cross 'cause they are clean
They are grave 'cause they are green
By tongue, by teeth
By fist or feet
There's two on the nose
It's bloodied and broke
I hid to see
Eyes full of rose
She tips on her toes
Her father's ears
They are keen
Late in a dream
It remains to be seen
If his grave is in flames
They move, they touch. Perhaps too much
They love to sing, only to be seen
They are cross 'cause they are clean
They are grave 'cause they are green