What About the 37º?

It began with a mistake A bribe, a pressure release To drive toward liberty Cursed into a vague goodbye You've entered the subtlety Not exact, more deforming Meanwhile, metamorphosis was unfolding I'm holding onto anything I find, alright, alright Sewn it back into the garden Open your hand, I want to try Too late to feed us what you harvest Too tough to cut it with a knife What about the 37 degrees We shared between our sheets and beneath our skin? Our bodies are vessels for poisoning But I won't do what I would do to survive, alright, alright Sewn it back into the garden Open your hand, I want to try Too late to feed us what you harvest Too tough to cut it with a knife Comin' out, c-c-comin' out Sewn it back into the garden Open your hand, I want to try Too late to feed us what you harvest Too tough to cut it with a knife My thoughts have vanished to the room of my design Collecting all of it awry