I meet a girl in the bathroom who tells me she buys shoes a size too small
Because her feet are too big for her body
She says her feet are always numb
But it looks right
This same girl, she looks me up and down
Tells me I look well
It worries me
That my skin is blooming with trouble
I am lost in the vast cathedrals of memory
With the hands of worry on my neck
But I look good, I look right
And I’m learning to love the bomb