(Terami Hirsch cover)         Shattered in my mouth   There are splinters in these words   Thorns and roots and tangles   I have spoken      Spitting out my teeth   Into a little silver cup   I wake up cold   With eyes wide open      I remember climbing trees   Vanishing behind the branches   Cradled in the veil of make-believe      Or else I was shooting fish   In a shallow fish pond   As they glistened in the sun      It might be wrong   It might be childhood      Summer sheets   And dampened footfalls   Cotton clinging to my skin      Kite strings   And paper wings   Missions to the moon      It might be wrong   It might be wrong   It might be wrong   It might be childhood