​eric reads a poem

Lyrics

I can feel it when I'm talking to you The worms like factory workers, underground The planes full of people, passing over birds Friends kissing each other Getting into cars and leaving, coming back, always Even if I were dead, my body a factory for worms to work in I am practicing to become a payphone Outdated and full of quarters Time infinite and nothing, all at once And I know of nothing more beautiful But for now, your heart is a 6-year old's birthday party Your mouth is a bed of flowers, covered in snow