Tasmania

I said,
Brother let's leave this town
And work on some poetry
Walk our way,
Until we've found a better place for our weak knees;
Our heavy chests,
From all the rested souls we've yet, to put to rest.
Our heavy chests,
From all the rested souls we've yet, to put to grave.

And in the morning she opens her eyes to butterflies,
I chase just to have around;
Will you have me around?