Drunk Off the Cure

I got drunk off the cure,
That’s for sure.
When you look at me,
Do you think of rain?
Do you think of pain?

I got high on the antidote
Drifting red crunchy leaves sang to me
I made a new plan that day.
By night I would join what grew.

I can’t tell one from the other,
But I always wanted to.
And the backwards butcher knew.
The carvers, the martyrs,
The storybook writers
They always saw me in you
The wind will carry my letters
If only to make it better.

I can’t tell the future yet,
But I told myself that I do.

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