These are leftovers.

Gardener, you forget that I struggle every time I’m with you
The ground we trail has four our feet on
But you decide which flower to grow
No wonder your favorite plant is the cactus
Like them you never strip your leaves
Spines that shade you from the sun
They protect you from water-seeking animals

Like me

These are leftovers, boy
So get me a good one
These are leftovers, boy
Go get me a better one


In the course of conversation sexual tension
Begins to build up signals float across the room
In fear of loom they prefer to splash pretty
soon nothing is clear and what was near is lost to the crash .


Gardener, I’m the soil you tread upon
Stop acting stupid please be
Careful where you sink the shovel
Removeremove, you would
Pick off the root from the nerve Or quizá estoy over reaccionando...