it's not a burden it's a privilege (the ground that you walk on)
and though I cannot carry
carry this thing out
and though the speed at which this drops
alarms me at the breast
i cannot help but be amazed
i cannot help but want to sketch
a portrait of your current place
and though you'll laugh in spite of truth
in safety, I must know
that twice a week, in place of rest
I get to look at your...great...chest
