Life hammers its minute nails
into the houses of bone in which we live.
Did you think your coffin made of wood,
awaiting construction on some future day?
It should be so easy to see:
this coffin I carry around with me:
206 tiny timbers sewn by ligaments
waiting for me to die.
into the houses of bone in which we live.
Did you think your coffin made of wood,
awaiting construction on some future day?
It should be so easy to see:
this coffin I carry around with me:
206 tiny timbers sewn by ligaments
waiting for me to die.