there s a ghost a ghost in the mezzanine and she s soaked soaked in a glimmering sort of bone her bones and i m blathering to count all her freckles to kiss her bare ankles the breath of the bread while it bakes how i ache i ache in the pit of me i awake awake with this fear in me how it makes makes a fool out of me with its knife how it carves the seeds out of my heart for to plant in the soil for to feast you are sweet sweet as a nectarine when you speak speak softly and gracefully oh to me you could quite possibly be the death of my dread and the songs in my head could at last find their place and be sung