I won't make this trip I'm already dead You can eat me If you need to But I won't taste right As you chew through All the good times That we outgrew You feel the salt wind Hit your heavy wet hair That the heat wave Couldn't dry out Now you're crying With a stiff mouth That still tastes like Your last bite Of my left leg That's now sheet white As the flies come In the dead of night You start to venture Through the ever thick trees Feet are tired Eyes are weary You find a stray fox In a plane wreck With a split lip And a cracked neck There's a left shoe At the fox's feet Must have flown here Across the big sea