Lyrics and Music by Nate Hegyi

A shoulder wrapped in a sunbeam
The ash-blond of his meat cut with a river vein
The worn taste of an American August
A blood-cut from a harelip, pink burnt and whittled

A pocket of light through a sycamore tree spreads its grinning on the ear of a dead fawn
To the tune of a mistral man’s piccolo
The carnival children hold up the harelip

And they’ll parade him like Christ on a black cross
Burnt red with feathers and the blood of a wolf’s hair
How bizarre and queer in his makeup
Look how he’s crying, just like a real boy

And if the bible is right with the lord, why ain’t I?
The harelip is the center of my being, it is all I will be remembered by


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