Woolen Heirs - These Arms Are Snakes

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.)