The crooked limbs roam and rove,
I can see them now going over the hill,
Wondering,
Looking down at themselves,
Preparing up
Ingredients of self-presentation
That are like a song,
All light arbitrary.
The crooked limbs roam and rove,
I can see them now going over the hill,
Wondering,
Looking down at themselves,
Preparing up
Ingredients of self-presentation
That are like a song,
All light arbitrary.