and the marble moon sifts jets of sluice
from treetops down candle wax roots
while rain towers drown the morning song
a magpie with a mottled tongue

and they only ever treat you well
when you're nothing but a church bell
and they only ever think you're good
when you're walking like you're made of wood

it's another friday afternoon
you shuck the shell, peel the cocoon
but it ain't friday on the moon
like it ain't Kenya at the zoo

and they only ever treat you well
when you're walking on an eggshell
and they only ever treat you kind
when you're talking like you'll change your mind

creation's all just a hit [bad word] 
limping to the beat of your own going numb
a fog curling tight around a weathercock fight
and an end to see you in hindsight.