Crapshooter

drowning
your legs shaped like number four
you're losing all and a bit more
with your eyes set on number eight
and now it's late
and now it's late

frowning
all is good when it fits in a jar
sleeping six figurines in the back of a car
you put it down for the long brown tail
and now you wail
and now you wail

squinting
the man at the shop is now married twice
he's got your ring, you have the rice
watching memories on battered dust
now run you must
now run you must