I don't owe you anything. The scars, the skin, the needle pushing in. Pins are pounding, breaking free. I'm already low. Can you send me anything at all? I'm not asking, now I'm telling, bend your pennies to what you're selling. Pins are all breaking free. I'm already low. It's all scissors and paste. It's learning to wait, through the twisting tongues, through the marks on the lungs. I made my bed already. I won't die...in this place with the planets, in this piece of the sky. Could you let me go softly, could you let me go now? I won't die here.