Do I Fault Your Verse

Do I fault your verse
It does not sound like I dreamed
Do I fault your prose
No, don't (no, don't)
Don't change (don't leave)

Must you reap budding fruit
Budding fruit, ah
Merry gold miracle
That isn't all

Do I fault your verse
It does not sound like I dreamed
Nowhere in your words
Have you cued for me to breathe laborlessly
Nothing else is nice like waking wet from my sleep
I dreamt of mouthless people
With the breath and breasts of Anita my own

Budding fruit, budding fruit
Budding fruit, ah
Miracle, miracle
Budding fruit, ah
Budding fruit, budding fruit
Budding fruit, ah
Miracle, miracle
Taken too far