You saw my flight in the hallway
I saw your face on the stairs
I tried to be your son
I tried to be wholesome
But nature has never been fair
I was the man whom the trees loved
Digging through dust for a book
But now I've been caught for
Rappacini's daughter
She's wiping the bait from the hook
Mother, I'm texture
I'm righting men wrecks her
Mother, I'm born many brood
Mother, I'm yawning
I slide on your morning
I chide and deride me your food
I know that you won't understand this
But listen, I'll try to explain
With poor imitations
And weak demonstrations
Why my friends all smell the same
The turkey-neck reeks in your kitchen
Your children are bound to complain
They sing in the toilet
While you stand and boil it
It's aural, it's nasal, it's pain
Mother, I'm texture
I'm righting men wrecks her
Mother, I'm born many brood
Mother, I'm yawning
I slide on your morning
I chide and deride me your food
Now that I've spent all my sources
The drooling, the moth-like are gone
I'll find a new place
For Lowly Worm shoelace
If that is what pushes me on
Mother, I'm texture
I'm righting men wrecks her
Mother, I'm born many brood
Mother, I'm yawning
I slide on your morning
I chide and deride me your food
