I Tore My Hands Off In A Combine

Talons flex with angry incisors.
Left with what I don't have advice for.
Tell my friends I don't want to see them.
Tell my family I don't want to know them.
A gentle crop was the killing line.
Shears gone by and it spun like a turbine.
Absinthe minded with thrice-like charm.
lonely wrists meet lonely arms.
I fought the jaws and the jaws won.
Innocent greetings don't seem like much fun.
Dismembered idles for the devil's work.
Thresh and destroy when palms meet till earth.
Open ears as my children salute.
Up the rows my wife follows suit.
Goddamn it, call on the land line.
I tore my hands off in a combine.
I can never truly hold you.
I can never truly hold.
Goddamn it, call on the land line.
I tore my hands off in a combine.
Land mine. Straight line. Combine