I cannot think of that song with this music on & I never want to go back to Arkansas even if you've gone from there, even if you've gone. You handled me like an infant skull & I cradled you like a newborn nightmare & I always long, long to go back there: straight back down the hallway & up the stairs to that bed. I asked the deer could the hunter she hear come a'creepin, creepin, creepin, creepin. I whispered in her ear so sweet & sincere but she was already dead asleep & the ground where she lay was red, sour & stained & I kissed her, kissed her, kissed her before I turned away & I never want to go back there: down the path to the place where she lay. We can close our eyes & cry out to the darkness, that there is still this light in us, there is this fight to find right where we belong. This ribcage, it is a staircase, climb it to my iris you can live there, you know who I am. You know who I am. I am your apple. So open up the book & read to me your favorite pa**age & know that I will be right here & I will listen. I hear you & I have heard you for one thousand years.