I gauge out my eyes,
to soak them in wine.
dip them in batter,
and fry them divine.
I serve them to beggars,
with stomachs that growl.
They chase them with fingers,
that smell oh so fowl.
My heart and my liver,
are clawed out short after.
Left out to dry,
then covered in lacquer.
I sell them to shops,
so sweet, down the coast.
who pull out my soul,
and spread it on toast.
But when all that's left,
is skin and my bones.
Hardened and stale,
like sun-dried old stones.
I build a nice hut,
in which I can die.
Leaking out dreams,
as wide as the sky.