Sweet Like A Wound In Your Mouth

every day was a Sunday,
another sack of dirt /a gloomy meal deal /
pregant mothers smoking /and the mirrors on the ceiling
reminded me / of what i was hating/
I know this place by heart /
You removed the mirrors
now I want to approach you /reach for your lips
give something you'll never forget /
Your breath will be smokey and hazy
Like a damp jungle/ and I'm dizzy
But still.../
I'm here with you
Your unconquerable soul /
Come here hold my hand/
I'll take any story in which suffering has a meaning
Mine does /
And suffering is sweet like a wound in your mouth /
And the rollers in your hair remind me of my Nan