Speak to me / breathe

you lived in the bags under my eyes
that I kept large and lofty because night
meant dreams of starving cats and
dirty old men scratching at my thighs

and when some men sing they try too hard
but you scream it out so effortlessly
you've got a handsome chin
under that beggar's beard

and every night I sing alone but there's no
rhythm, there's no melody, just sound's like
someone else's voice cracking,

talk to me, because there's oxygen tubes
and radio wires, there's little brown bugs
and water that won't put out any fires

speak to me, I'm living inside someone else's
dirty broken parts, I'm living inside of a
painting but I'm no piece of art