Sweet beast, I have gone prowling, a proud rejected man who lived along the edges catch as catch can; in darkness and in hedges I sang my sour tone and all my love was howling conspicuously alone.
I happened to findYour picture. That picture. I stopped there cold,Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yardWho has turned up a severed hand.
I happened to find Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold, Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard Who has turned up a severed hand.