I gave birth to body white
Collected to my thighs
Held her there, between my legs
And brought my knees up high
And she slid out, I don't know how
She slid out, I don't know how
And you left your meat all in the leaves,
Gathering sweat from the graves
And you body sister, I brought you a cistern
From what holes I cannot pray
But I'll go and be brave
I'll go and be brave
I only have faith in what is good
And what is good?
I knew a boy who built an aviary
He gathered all the wood that he could carry
I pulled from his chest again
Blind from the bees
And we exchanged helium,
Because we're tired of ceilings
I found him blocked out, like a jarhead
His antlers fall seaweed from an ocean bed
And he carried carvings of his own geography
But had he stabbed his own eyes out so he couldn't see
I said, 'I don't wanna be your wife.'
I couldn't stand to do this my whole life
My breast milk is heavy,
And you don't have the strength to help me with this baby.
And where do we pull out of each other
I ask you if you can tug me off
You ask me if I can push you out
You ask me if I can push you out
Like one wood fire, and drag this sh** from each other
All the fluids, from your mother.
I can barely stand, in your late disease again
With your vomit up to my waist
And in the hospital they asked me
If I know where your parts go
But I tell them your body isn't made from skin they know