You come in sevens and tens leaving
me on fours, all accounted for and attuned
Hieroglyphic fingers, and that string
is a yolk stretching my limbs on crossbars
The space in between is my heaven
laurels and wreaths, and you, my god
You come in sevens and tens leaving
me on fours, all accounted for and attuned
Hieroglyphic fingers, and that string
is a yolk stretching my limbs on crossbars
The space in between is my heaven
laurels and wreaths, and you, my god
