No matter how deep is the water or
How strong is the stream.
Wherever you go it’ll follow,
Up the highest mountains,
over the edge of the cliff.
A rough, purple rope tied into a knot,
Around your neck, pale as the moon
A white, tangled
telephone cord.
My grass isn’t green, it’s rather splattered red.
I think I did something wrong,
And now it’s dead.
I can’t be alone.
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