Silverback (Made Out Of Babies)

Drying Stains Spell things in words uneasily In crowded pens A drying mouth's final Hiss of growing limbs Faster than the skin The arrows pointing to the thunder of the tanks in vacant lots Down dark pathways Special paintings line the wall The ghastly glow of broken saints The cheeks of working flames burn blue And spit out words see what we've done we stayed up all this life for you and now you owe this much for good Here on your shoulders till we're When at first it's all in fun once White's misshapen eyes glued shut then In Words In Pens In Limbs faster than the skin Sick limp of Tin on Tongue shoulders pushing through Cut line In Waves of Blue hiss of growing limbs live ice In reams of tin All in Crowded Pens