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Massa Nera
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Skin will wilt Legs will swell Bones will break Lungs will fail Your words won't make me feel better A leucotome to soothe the sick A platitude for the bereaved Your words won't make me feel better The steady pulse of IV drip The gnawing hunger for relief Medicine contours your mind like a chisel that strikes marble My words won't help you get better A pint of blood for labored breath A pious hand for ravaged flesh Our words have lost their meaning Yet we can't stop moving our mouths Bitterness shatters my mind like a hammer to porcelain While we wait Bitterness shatters my mind while we wait The present sinks into the past and the visiting hour ends