OH SEVEN.

All that’s left is crumbs

Crumbs of my dead soul.

Stop with the lies.

You know I want to die.

The calendar full of my mistakes.

Lay down in a meadow full of daises

The sun will rise in the east.

Indians will dance us to Tuesday

While the birds sing us to sleep.

Nothing worries me here.

Nothing seems to get in.

When my human body touches 

The earth bare, this fills the soul.