You can teach yourself the rules of death.
What do I really want?
What do I really want?
Always wanting to be a fox
not a hedgehog (bee not spider if you’d rather).
The mind can trap you in a box,
not a hedgehog (bee not spider if you’d rather).
The mind can trap you in a box,
thinking thoughts like breaking rocks,
biting leather.
What do I really want?—
biting leather.
What do I really want?—
To take a walk in harlequin sox,
dancing each step.
The mind can trap you in a box,
dancing each step.
The mind can trap you in a box,
but you can wink the cox,
whatever cleaves to the measurement-faith.
“What do I really want?”
whatever cleaves to the measurement-faith.
“What do I really want?”
you ask, as you try to avoid the pox
by refusing to look death in the face.
The mind can trap you in a box.
What do I really want?
by refusing to look death in the face.
The mind can trap you in a box.
What do I really want?
