Woolen Heirs

He, he sinks in the ground
On these streets of 11th and Howell
May he run down blocks and city halls
To be drank by city folks and shivering crows, to make this right
All the way down to the Sound!

You'll be a sound mite, and I'll be your roe
And all of those blood types, become the sow

He said he sold one leg
To a mite on the corner of 11th and Howell
So he could run down the throats
Of any folks that he cared to choke
In shivering clothes, to make this right

You'll be a sound mite, and I'll be your roe
And all of those blood types, become the sow

Teeth jangling lie like lights supporting the whole thing
They spit, drool slowly falls. Gelatin rain!

(For the second embrace!)
(Opening eyes erases all sound.)