Besedila: Twelve Tribes. As Feathers To Flowers And Petals To Wings. Strings.

Stitch me from the inside out tell me you love me i am what you want and i am what you need sew your face onto mine in red split tongues let pins seal my lips wheeling in vines stitching over again and spools becoming untied winding needles dysphoria sets in drag knots at the corners of my eyes as i wander into low fields testing my wings i am a boy under grey skies and still i pretend but i am caught in a closed room with flickering lights and i can't see anything i can feel only insects of a gift called grace and venus palms release their clinch letting go of foolishness spinning in circles staring at the sun laughing and floating and dancing in love my arms outstretched catching stars in the day a blue stem with green eyes i say hello to her smile painting flowers pink clovers and giving water to them the drops burst into fairies caterpillars in disguise leaving worms with no passion barely able to fly i lay coiled in strings spun into my everything twisting until finally it became all that i've ever wanted and she rings a blue bell for the day from the will o' the wisp i touch her belly to say things will be okay baby girl i can fly i can fly i can't remember if i choked i'm sure that i have flown better winds i am a man designed to break to fail yet to impress and venus palms released to their finger blades ripping me to fuck frayed ropes bent strings