The Water Jet Cilice - Andrew Bird

I knew this one girl,

Drowned in her own curls —

Candy colored swirls,

That never seemed to end.

I could not comprehend

Half what she said to me So casually —

All our tender ears would bend

Tales of ritual self-torture.

She’s making you abort your

Most carefully laid plans.

To make a final stand,

Rest of world to hand

A scoreless victory for serendipity.