Crow Prints In the Mud

Yeah, go ahead stare at my crows feet, I don't mind I'm proud of them earned every one... broken my back broken this broken that ninety proof patch thatched hut for a heart and broken clock soul Yeah, crows feet, look closely, there etched in unforgiving-unforgivable tin miscarriages cornucopias spilling the seeds of lust sticky-petty jealousies on a path of forever the broken flesh of those never born gouging at the skin around the soul. You on the other hand don't have any crows feet your pallet and brushes are clean. haven't earned any haven't buried what you love... enough given (it )all to a heart only to retrieve (it) from the earth to be put out of it's misery. you haven't gotten those pixie dusted eyes broken, but you'll catch up... some day, its coming way-way down the tracks...at the empty station, where nothing breathes but crow prints in a fragile evening mud-