When you are balancing   the leaves on a backyard tree   leaning over the railing you are standing on   All the blood that has gone to your head   disagrees with the bricks that its spilling on.      You awaken to words not ready to hear.      The dogs put to sleep,   your brother no longer is here.   But Thanksgiving is coming   and you have such a wonderful scar, dear.      When you are jumping out of your sensitive skin   for seventeen years shivering only everyday   from the wood shops, and fig trees   and fingers gone missing   secretly strange.   Your balance has vanished,   you wake on concrete in a daze.   While you were unconscious,   the quiet ones crowded the stage.      When you are choking on fire   you are breathing the south   infront of your friends house too late.   All the ashes are flying beside her tonight   uncovering everything.   All the sickness built up in your body   over so final and suddenly.   Back-sliding through tunnels of light,   come alive while putting your life to sleep.      You awaken to words not ready to hear   unrecognizably, perfectly clear      But Thanksgiving is coming   And you have such a wonderful scar, dear.   Thanksgiving is coming,   And you have such a wonderful scar.