Bread

I rationalize my shaking feet and legs as a constant rhythm flowing through my body, but that doesn't explain my tight neck or oily pores on my back. My spine is clearly pleading for release. No, it's definitely not just a song. It's a beat and it's racing past your pad, through your pad, at light speed, rendering everything in its path obsolete. So cut the cord that strangles your head, and feed me bread. Let me legs shake me to sleep and don't wake me when I sweat on my sheets.