Rhy. Fig. 1 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Verse: (w/rhy. Fig. 1)
1. Your mother's child. But night lays you down.
Hair a-flame, wild look in your eyes. Naked belly to the ground.
A forest fire nibbles at your veins,
Crawls up your arm runs away with your mind and burns dry thoughts like leaves.
To Coda&&
