On the Vermont Transit Bus I leaned my arm into a little [bad word] of sun, going somewhere older than I was, strapped into something tight, keeping me small. I dug into you like rock climbing; too scared [bad word] down, too scared of going up, too scared of rockface. I should've split my sides or spilled my guts or hit you or something, but I was good. And your father's little pancakes so round and perfect and me sitting up too straight, laughing in wrong places, kissing you, kissing up, kissing too soon.

When the [bad word] crows
When the [bad word] where will I go?
When the [bad word] crows
When the love is gone where will I go?

And when you got me pregnant I stopped the party and I stopped the typewriter and I stopped your dumb ball game in the red barn and I stopped your father and bled instead. And I felt the lie - something sticky on the inside; a bitter wind in my throat, stopping me wanting, in my stomach, in my head and you said

Sugar sugar, you [bad word] come
Sugar sugar, without your mother
Sugar sugar, you couldn't taste it
Sugar sugar, in my throat.

When the [bad word] crows
When the [bad word] where will I go?
When the [bad word] crows
When the love is gone where will I go?