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.
I know you can do
So much better.