Maybe my soul’s all right.
But my body’s all wrong,
All bent and twisted,
All this that hurts me so.
My soul keeps trying, trying
To straighten my body up.
It hangs on my skeleton, frantic,
Flapping its terrified wings.
Look here, look at my hands,
They look like little wet toads
After a rainstorm’s over,
Hopping, hopping, hopping.
Maybe God didn’t like
The look of my face when He saw it.
Sometimes a big dog
Looks right into it.
