A thing I made. Thanks @frankhopkinsfilm for filming.
Lyrics:
Gaunt, withered face my teeth have gone yellow
The barman calls for final drinks before close
With a stick my legs they stumble in a trance
I hear
Sunday morning birds count my remaining days
Send me a sign dear darling
To stitch me up again
These feathers they just keep growing
Oh where do I begin
Who am I if not a man
But just a little boy
My soul is aching
And I need to find my toy
Small birdie find your footing in my heart
Spread your wings and nestle right between my lungs
Loss of feeling arms a-stretch towards my tree
Suckle suckle birdie takes my life from me
Fleshy feathers, talons purge the skin I wear
Salute your magpies
And take care
Th...