...sore and splendid palms of my hands...
a still descendant, I'm spread out like land...
I live all day when I can.

When you've inspected my neck to my shins
I'm sure you'll stick me with all those straight pins
but look what leaks from your skin.

I'm glad we're not related...
I'm glad we're not related...

your tongue is hot and serrated
your eyeballs shine then go shaded
your touch is abbreviated
and I appreciate it.

words and music by Leslie Dean
© Leslie Dean