You Can Eat Me - Covey

I won’t make this trip

I’m already dead

You can eat me

If you need to

But I won’t taste right

As you chew through

All the good times

That we outgrew

You feel the salt wind

Hit your heavy, wet hair

That the heat wave

Couldn’t dry out

Now you’re crying

With a stiff mouth

That still tastes like

Your last bite

Of my left leg

That’s now sheet white

As the flies come

In the dead of night

You start to venture

Through the ever thick trees

Feet are tired

Eyes are weary

You find a stray fox

In a plane wreck

With a split lip

And a cracked neck

There’s a left shoe

At the fox’s feet

Must’ve flown here

'Cross the big sea