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Chord spine the way of a splinterMasked bags with mixed days that didn'tRhyme to me or speak to me rhyme to me or speak to meTan lines that burn in the winterMixed up with masks that didn'tRhyme to me or speak to me.I cried my quarters to sleep I didn't leave themOne on one with the woman in a magazineLooking at fast drying paint cansLooking at fast drying paint cans.Chord spine the way of a splinterMask bags with mixed days that didn'tRhyme to me or speak to meStuffed chokes the day in my heartboxEarly mourning heatlamp that couldn'tRhyme to me speak to me.I cried my quarters to sleepI didn't leave themOne on one with the woman in a magazineLooking at fast drying paint cansLooking at fast drying paint cans.I look forward to hearing from you.