Cry Me Old Trouble

I was born guilty as sin To a mother guilty as hell That'll teach us for sniffing the dirt New hats for the old hurt It started in a garden It started in a bright lit hall It started in a garden And why would you wet the ground? Cry me old trouble. I like the weight. I'm tied to something you read Through the din of a photograph Wrapped up in a second-hand quilt Worn thin and passed around Outside the air is cool enough to make me sweat Under a peacock moon The spoon gets passed around