Replica of a dead rat.  

Don’t ask me why my nails are black

Tie the fly down before I set it on fire

While we do our secret dance,

The nectar slips out of the flowers

And the tress grow a little faster

The oceans are scattered with human

Remains, before the bugs had brains

And the train made it to New York

The clouds make shapes like the CDs

Play music and I’m happy it’s a day

Closer to Friday. At night the face

Comes off and the flowers start

To bleed.