Unto Itself
Do you want to go down with the ship that is me?
Do you want to grow up, or will you stay behind,
In the world well-contained in your precious little mind?
And who am I to judge if it's right or if it's wrong,
For a soul to be sold for the price of a song.
And so I live in my room underneath the floor,
And I lay wounded birds at the foot of your door.