Wrens Me, The Misser, The Late
entry hundred forty-one me, the misser, the late
miss years to make words of what IÂ'm missing
shame IÂ'm shaking, a loss, a crap
hung by heartwrack in the grasslands me, the pridest, the slack
come through rain through window new approval seas a headrest, a home a peace
having all my needies covered me, the hoper, the hole
family leaver, shit repeater and a rancid grudge-hold
entry hundred forty-one starts back when I dared
God knock me down again not a single thing IÂ've done meant a scrap
changed the stance of anyone thought by now IÂ'd left the barn
but IÂ'm scared the fields, and IÂ'm scared the houses, IÂ'm scared the millers yard.
