Little girl, I think you're peeling off a coat you're meant to keep It wraps you tight so why the chatter-teeth, the tugging at the sleeve?
No pick-pick-picking does you good It grows as it should Still talking tender as it bends the very marrow underneath
It's safety-pinned along her hem in case she points her toes against some other gravel road that grows and travels through the skin and speaks a mocking click-n-clack that doesn't know an end until it meets her on the walking-back to counsel as a friend
\"Hello, Shadow—good to see a sight familiar on the road We share a common pair of feet, not a common travel home”
Said the Shadow: \"Better leave the Sun to learn another face He won't need you when he's done You won't have to set a place
And though I know a twice-seen rock can talk you into such a state, you'll live to see your pockets burn with each and every name you learn
Here's hoping by the time you make it ‘back’ is not the same.”
You're on your own this time around and you can see your own way down just like you saw yourself to every table top and shelf that seemed so high from far below when up was still a place to go and not a thing to leave you when the soil met your toes and turned them brown Brown, muck-brown No, you don't get to pick a cloud
Don't tell me you want a hard life Was boredom such a long, long fight to wade through and sleep with and draw your breath to sigh? To swear at as you turned to find your toes on a road she trailed behind? And home is hardly what you mind You keep to a road she trails behind So don't tell me home is what you mind