Ribbons run in ruins down my face
And I design to cry and fill the space
Finding that all my confidence is shattered
As if it mattered

The broken bones of frail music dolls
Hang their heads from a crow's leather claws
All of us are dead, bound, or faking

Their jilted tongues now tie in fine knots
Cherry stems, principles forgot
To make themselves All and pure or better.

You,
I know you can do
So much better.