One rare morning I awake
and in a not small part of me I'm shook by a feeling of grace
a feeling of grace
Rain may patter, the wind may hiss
but it’s not so much forgetting relics that hung close to me lose their grip
they lose their grip
And we’re all composed of some old belief
you can’t make little cuts until you feel clean of your memories
But if you ever feel when you’re looking back
it would make you sick to get past the past
just breathe quick and cough ‘til you fog up the glass
‘til you fog up the glass
You can smooth the wood, sand down the burl
but to a certain extent our history is irrevocable
irrevocable
And after all this hand-wringing there’s still shifts in my breast
my old body, new body a cognate misleading at best
And if you ever feel when you’re looking back
it would make you sick to get past the past
just breathe quick ‘til you fog up the glass
‘til you fog up the glass