"Who was it that got stabbed here?
There's blood everywhere.
It's pulled up and drawn around in tracks,
Whose blood is this?"
Well it's mine, I got stabbed here.
With a flexing arm, I stabbed myself.
And with a bloody flow,
Let go all that I had taken in.
I cut a hole with my own hand,
My vitality poured into the sand.
And with a clanging of bells above,
My blood gushed out a loud song.
I cut a hole and let you see my hiding side,
And with a pregnant silence my song was a sigh
So my pool of blood seems bigger to your eyes,
And my stab wound is healed up,
I've already filled up another cup
With a nectar that drinks in all birdies cries!
Our chilly toes, or tasty kisses,
Oh blooming blossoms and all kinds of light,
And I'm prepared to stab myself again tonight,
But the blood that pours from you will not be mine.
It belongs to all it's sources
Like a pony's parent horses.
Like the river's mouth holds debt to mountains high.
But I've sung and said that "I've feasted with my eyes"
All the blood I've bled keeps flowers fertilized.
Well, if the song that came out left you with eyes dry,
Please know that what I say left me paralyzed.
And then twitching in the glee,
For the gift given to me,
And then revive to tell me,
Tell and show off
these songs about the sky,
I tried not to disguise,
That the light of sun falls evenly on me.
There's a warmth we all can fell fruitlessly.
We warm ourselves on bloody songs and sunny beams.