Knit your brows and lie in the dark With your pile of silent parts
You will miss the softness and snow Or the row of egg-shaped holes
Run your tiny fingers through mild and abiding winter Everything is strange to me Your presence gives me cause for concern
And may they rest in peace If they were here to see this ungodly mess It would scare them half to death
This wasn't what we planned you know We stay inside on Sunday mornings Sleeping through construction and