Saying sooth with a crooked tooth   Turn a crooked time of day   Taken in with a nervous grin   And oxygen   And androgens   And mouths that buckle and break      Soft side, leaning away at your knees   Eyes cast downward by seven degrees   Untamed by the meal that you made   And the minutes that make up the day      Full speed ahead   At the foot of your bed   There are feet that are longing for fingers instead      "Makes sense," you said   With your hands on my head   These are hands that are longing to bristle and bend      And go to sleep with the words that you keep   At half past ten   With pathogens   And paths that take you away      Outside, roadways are ready to freeze   Ice kept colder by several degrees   Unnamed, will it still sound the same   In the movements that make up your day      Count it off   Happy new year