Harvest

There's nothing that's poetic about a bedsore

Stasis is damage

I cleaned the bowl of fruit I brought

It sat till it turned to food for flies

See how they dine on trials awry

But later I came over

The house smelt heavy

You said to me

I don't ever wanna be

Contest

Harvest

Let me rot in the field, set the seed

I don't ever wanna be

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Harvest

Let the moss, let it grow over me

You brought that dog up, could you put it down?

You found out

Too much to hear so ear gave in

Then on the following Sunday the devil rose out

But he came back

He dresses like a businessman

But you were

When you were younger

Did you find what you were offered?

I don't ever wanna be

Contest

Harvest

Let me rot in the field, set the seed

I don't ever wanna be

Contest

Harvest

Let me rot in the field, set the seed