You sing for me, my friend,
Brave and confident,
And there [bad word] between your breaths,
And I use sense to help.

But when the days beneath me,
Scream into my present,
I must [bad word] the race on my own.

Your warmth is in my bed,
Your voice above the stairs,
And then the touching [bad word] regret, [bad word] my mercy chair.

Even when the sun is burning,
Saving graces,
I must [bad word] the race on my own.

Oh the sinking and the scent,
Of every saving word.
And the [bad word] of all convention,
And all [bad word] thought.
Dig their nails into my art
And instinct shows,
I must [bad word] the race on my own.
I must [bad word] the race on my own.
I must [bad word] the race on my own.