Mouth, Paper, Crayon

I made a clay form of your hands, with my hands.
They looked just like you, I threw them in the sea, to watch them swim.
As they clapped and flailed, the captain failed
to stay awake at the wheel.
And your seven angry sisters blew kisses of flame,
and they came and they sang and they clashed and they clanged...

And I'd kill for the thrill of solitude right now,
and I'd leap just to die from the shock of coming down.
And when the bad news comes for you...
I'll cast you crowns with black jewels from the moon.

And later on that gray day, I hunted
White-collared loons with hula hoops;
the method's are strange, but the standard rule's still
"don't lose your cool".
When the day was done, all the sunthread spun
arrows and flies, terrors and lies
all caught their targets by the newskin
of their mangled second tries.

And I'd kill for the thrill of solitude right now,
and I'd leap from the womb for the joy of crying out.
And when the good news comes to you...
They'll drag you from the bowels of the earth
Just to see me
They'll drag you through the rocks and the dirt
Just to free me
They'll kick you and they'll dirty your shirt
Just to tease me
Then they'll throw us back in the hearth,
and that'll please me, yeah.