I smell spilt milk
Something out of
A sick spoiled cow
Concrete dead squirrel
You and me and a
Beautiful girl
Caught your eye through the cracks
Smiling, you look me back in the eye

It just goes in circles
The machine is so smooth
Mother makes daughter
Makes mother makes you
Born into concrete
Just a husband and wife
And they hope you inherit
A Kshatriya's eyes

A smell so foul
Twenty five children
In half of a house
One in one half
Circles you drew on
The walls in the bath
See your face through the cracks
A hand that could wash your sore back
Circles around you in the tub
What will they do with my love?