We are feathers in the wind,
we are feathers who have sinned
From your pillow, from your birdcage
the quill on your ink, where the swans sleep
We are monsters under your skin
we are monsters who have sinned
In your closet, under your bed
on your arms, in your head
We are tornadoes that bitterly spin
we are tornadoes that always sin
In your yard, on your fence
on your trailers, through your mind
defeating you, kicking your shins
We are the organs making you thin
kicking you in the teeth when you sin
In your throat, under your chin
the man on your shoulder, the iris in your eye
the cut between your thigh, a cut from the fight
We are monsters under your skin
letting you know when, where, and how you sin
We are your shame, your envy
Your anger, your crime scene
Now tell us when you want us to leave,
on the count of one, two, three...
