sing dead, go on back of the porch,
whatever it is, you can see it
flying on out of here,
ditching us both

i will never be cruel to you;

the color of god is Green,

but the space behind the yard
sings the songs that sing dead,

inside of me there are 

skittles, starbursts, sour patch watermelon,

iron bars and the ribs of sunk boats