Colored pinwheel
Is spinning inside of me
Don't hold back
Because holding back's a lie

Obsessed by the spinning web
That looks like veins
Carrying blood through my arms that hide

And you have got a life that's stretched out inside me
So strange to think about
That they would want and try and tear it from you
Put your hands on my head

Mother, your arms are not long enough
To reach around this life
I have made all by myself

Plums are billowing, puffing smoke
Into the air
And into your fears
And out of them

Without, without, without
Then hearing your love
So strange to think about
I know inside my heart
That Cunningham's dead
So strange to think about