The more I see the less I know, the more I grieve the less there is to cling to. If I hang on one second more I'll sacrifice the hands that do the giving. I won't beg anymore, hang from the rafters or pound on the floor. Roll me over—throw me a bone.
The more I hear there's less to say, the hungrier I am the emptier my plate. Angels die in devil's graves, beating broken wings against an empty face. I won't beg anymore, hang from the rafters or pound on the floor. Roll me over—throw me a bone.
The more I wait the less I care to smooth the wrinkled sheet or tame the tangled hair. All is gone and nothing's lost, between the here and there, devoted as the dog.
I won't beg anymore, hang from the rafters or pound on the floor. I'll master all the tricks I've never done before—throw me a bone.
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