I dwell in the cup of night
so cold its heat surrounds the soul
embalmed with a false sense of warmth-
my tea cup collects my fortune
as I sing a street tune.
I wittle a fiddle from my tears
string it with a tall tale
and perform with it
like im dueling the devil
where is my pedestal?
a rouse from people pretending with me
a turue entertainer, unable to sustain from tips they give me...