Broken Bird — Salad

The backroom card game under smoky mobiles The lift attendent who's been riding for miles Safari season is upon us once more The lion's share to the man by the door

She twists her body like a broken bird And staggers to the lift without a single word

Her taking leave of the spinning room Leaves rain unwatched under eyeing moon In third floor peace dwelling on he fate She dents the side of the bed with her sparrow weight

She twists her body like a broken bird And cranes her neck down slowly to the water

As luck would have it she desired that man So she threw away hearts to weaken her hand The winner in a grey suit fills the frame Unaware that she's still playing her game

She twists her body like a broken bird As waves roll up the shore and break softly