Followed a map of varicose veins on my heels,

The same which forded you passage across the big ol’ veil

Putting the bitter over our shoulders like an old wives tale

Greeting Death with a “Did-I-forget-to-turn-the-oven-off?” exhale

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There's anger in the stars tonight, you say in windspeak, grab your coat

Soundlessly take your licks until you fold like an old envelope

Guiding me steady from heaven like a Sunday horoscope,

You are not as close as you think you are to the end of your rope