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Let's fess up to fire CrackerJack snacks And a piggy bank built and filled to be spilled and broken Hammy fat fingers pinch clammy cold coins All the leaves left wither a sickly brittle brown I'm dying to tell you I'm dying I don't need a reason You've got yourself such a comfortable trap Yes. I am taking to you Yes. I know this is shameless Yes. I am taking to you You've got yourself such a comfortable trap (Detail): A matinee of sunshine ribbons on a sheetless matress Moonlighting as swooning Moonlight isn't really from the moon at all I am shining smiles and flowery glows I am drunk in the breeze in the park chasing kites and splashing puddles Forget-me-nots in my gut That's what you get We nibbled our butter cookie rings to the knuckle Artichoke trophies choked down through Nevada sandy enzymes Past ribs choking scorching hearts Down to an autotrophic stomach I called her June until late last spring Quite possibly March leap year Automatic trophies aren't shit From Letras Mania