Chord spine the way of a splinter   Masked bags with mixed days that didn't    Rhyme to me or speak to me    Rhyme to me or speak to me    Tan lines that burn in the winter    Mixed up with masks that didn't    Rhyme to me or speak to me    I cried my quarters to sleep I didn't leave them   One on one with the women in a magazine    Looking at fast drying paint cans    Looking at fast drying paint cans   Chord spine the way of a splinter   Mask bags with mixed days that didn't    Rhyme to me or speak to me    Stuffed chokes the day in my heartbox   Early mourning heatlamp    That didn't rhyme to me speak to me   I look forward to hearing from you