I won't make this trip
I'm already dead
You can eat me
If you need to

But I won't taste right
As you chew through
All the good times
That we outgrew

You feel the salt wind
Hit your heavy, wet hair
That the heat wave
Couldn't dry out

Now you're crying
With a stiff mouth
That still tastes like
Your last bite

Of my left leg
That's now sheet white
As the flies come
In the dead of night

You start to venture
Through the ever thick trees
Feet are tired
Eyes are weary

You find a stray fox
In a plane wreck
With a split lip
And a cracked neck

There's a left shoe
At the fox's feet
Must've flown here
'Cross the big sea