What About The 37º?

It began with a mistake
A bribe, a pressure release
To drive toward liberty
Cursed into a vague goodbye
You’ve entered the subtlety
Not exact, more deforming
Meanwhile, metamorphosis was unfolding
I’m holding onto anything I find, alright, alright
Sewn it back into the garden
Open your hand, I want to try
Too late to feed us what you harvest
Too tough to cut it with a knife
What about the 37 degrees
We shared between our sheets and beneath our skin?
Our bodies are vessels for poisoning
But I won’t do what I would do to survive, alright, alright
Sewn it back into the garden
Open your hand, I want to try
Too late to feed us what you harvest
Too tough to cut it with a knife
Comin' out, c-c-comin' out
Sewn it back into the garden
Open your hand, I want to try
Too late to feed us what you harvest
Too tough to cut it with a knife
My thoughts have vanished to the room of my design
Collecting all of it awry