We sailed away on a winter's day With fate as malleable as clay But ships are fallible, I say And the nautical, as all things, fades. - Joanna Newsom

And in an infinite regress:
Tell me, why is the pain of birth
lighter borne than the pain of death?

Coats of bouclé, jacquard and cashmere;
cartouche and tweed, all silver shot —
and everything that could remind you
of how easy I was not.

I have a lot of interest in interior rhyming; not just rhyming at the end of the lines, but playing around with rhymes within the lines, playing with where the syllabic emphases in the sentences are, lining those up at strange moments in the line of the song. I’m not sure if that comes across or not.