My soles are smeared with mud,
My hair is soaked in rain.
Bruises cover my shins,
But I don’t feel that pain.
I pick up snails after storms,
Put them on the side of the street.
Safely away from the wheels of cars,
Their end I wont let them meet.
My soul is smeared with mud,
My bones are soaked in rain.
Aches and cracks haunt my flesh,
I always feel that pain.
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