Jars (early song version)

I covered my foot with mud the other day. 

It discordantly took me away 

to the time when I played in the soil -

a little girl, encasing things in jars. 

My remorse hangs a horse 

(it's the bookie's odds that'll kill you).

Like a race-track nose-bleed,

this is a drug that will still you

In my belly 

(sharp and poison'd.

Deep inside me, 

poisoned stars). 

How'd I earn these empty shoes I walk in? 

By putting things in jars.

What do we think we keep in the jars then? 

Spiders, or a sharp.

What do we think we keep in the jars then?

The losers of our heart.

What do we think we keep in the jars then?

Those that simply aren't.

What do we think we keep in the jars then?

All with which we start:

black, pagan concepts.

The cocoon (or shell)

might fall apart

from the start,

and will never grow in this place. 

Imaginary photographs

on a plastic shrine.

Well my god's got his,

but I still don't get mine.

What do you think we call those in jars then?

The poisons of our heart.

Where do you think we keep all those jars then?

Furthest from our heart.

What do you think we keep in the jars then?

Jars in jars in jars.

What do you think the jars keep in jars then?

That of which they're part:

black, pagan concepts.