6 - The Wrens

Rules, fools, the idiots that shower them in flowers

Praise them great in open song

Color by numbers copy one another I’ll wolf you

Promise stupid tiny bells

Ain’t find no favor for stacking for the tilted

This fairground is getting close to closing won’t it stop me?

Rank, split, my eyes are choked with water

Seeing haters finger point at lesser skin

Rupture, young lovers with rape and rank

It shudders me to see the better thing as sin

I won’t believe that her of ways, of worth, of less of him

Done back for others what split

The hearts of mothers I know a quieting

Behind the corn scratches diseased from the pities

You’ve passed around oh chicklet marry to me overseas