And I command you : Rip my flesh, from bone

And I beg you :Fill the holes in my soul.

And I ask you : Turn into cotton, my bone

And we decide to leave to save my soul.

You cannot make me whole,

I have ripped my self from me,

For you, yet you cannot see.

I have wrung myself dry; a towel hanging,

Swinging in the cold spring breeze.

You sneeze and I bless you,

Before you decide to call for me,

I am next to you.