Know when to take life off of juice
Another dance
A hand is swollen too
This son of land mounted is a minor thing
A sin's goodbye
It's a centipede coil
Fields of rain begin to slide
I might have had a shaken ride
There are days that I haven't invented weight
The slow carbuncle fate
From the prow of a prospered hand I gather a proper space
And I place it down a well
And it yet remains unfold