Besedila: Holly Throsby. Under the Town. What Becomes Of Us.

It is early
You are dead
There are crows in our bed
But I won?t come undone
We are done, we are done
There is air still
In my lungs
I will get up and get on
With the other mouths and tongues
And the work there is to be done
This is what becomes of us
There are dim things in the pond
There is dust under the rug
And I don?t ever know
What?s below what?s below
But I am up!
I am above!
I have a new love!
And it?s warm like a gun
Or a knife that I fell on
This is what becomes of us
I was not ready
You won?t be back
I was not ready