歌词
I woke in a sweat from a desirous fever
In the pocket of yesteryear
Where faults have fallen to some
I begged not to carry the corpse
To not be a queer fish in unforgiving hearts
To not be buried in native clay and preserved for cynicism
I wish to be a pauper in kind eyes
To feel the gravel beneath my knees
To wake in a home
God had sent my calamity into a deep space
From which not even in dreams,
Could I ever imagine my escape.