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In which direction are we going? |
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How many runaways are we stowing? |
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Over the black sea with your arms around me |
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In whose honor have we gone missing? |
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I am too hungry to imagine |
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A different ending to this famine |
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In the building chaos of calendars and clocks |
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I missed a mark somewhere and |
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I got us lost |
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It's a standing eight count |
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Out on the darker shore less waters |
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Comrade do you think we'll go under? |
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On which horizon is my lover waking up? |
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You pass this bottle and then |
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I think too much |
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I lean your body up against me |
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And make believe that you still want me |
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The swell of white caps and a silver streak of light |
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Here on the bowline we pay dearly for our size |
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It's a standing eight count |
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Lessons will come, wisdom will wait |
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Whatever it does, it's too late |
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What good are we now? |
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Our backs on the ground |
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Our faces both bloodied and bowed |
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When we oughta know better by now |
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The flat and troubled, shapeless earth |
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It stretches further then you've heard |
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There's no love like our love |
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And none older, none as cursed |
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You hurt the ones you love |
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And we couldn't do much worse |
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How many fingers am |
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I showing? |
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How many tears are you withholding? |
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There's beads of sweat pouring in our eyes |
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If it were blood, we wouldn't know it |
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It's a stand, it's standing eight count |
