| [00:06.424] |
I wonder if this blade ran through someone's side, |
| [00:14.947] |
The blood wiped away to hide, |
| [00:20.338] |
How evil you grandfather was 'fore he died, |
| [00:26.485] |
But war can make monsters out of us all, |
| [00:33.325] |
I'm sure I'd become one if I was called, |
| [00:38.527] |
And then it would be my blade, |
| [00:43.321] |
Here at this yardsale, |
| [00:51.306] |
The guitar I am holding is way out of tune, |
| [00:58.810] |
The neck it is warped and the saddle is through, |
| [01:06.515] |
I wonder if sweet music ever was played, |
| [01:13.340] |
From the hands of a boy to a girl in the shade, |
| [01:19.670] |
From this rickety ghost of a song, |
| [01:25.386] |
Here at this yardsale, |
| [01:34.069] |
|
| [02:10.491] |
A dollar for anything here on this quilt, |
| [02:18.384] |
A price tag for hands from which all things are built, |
| [02:25.025] |
A blanket of voices speak pleasure in shame, |
| [02:32.365] |
Flowers of plastic and fruit of the same, |
| [02:39.307] |
A basket of nothing at all, |
| [02:44.894] |
Here at this yardsale, |
| [02:52.837] |
So if I had the money I'd buy everything, |
| [02:59.547] |
And cover the whole lot with good gasoline, |
| [03:07.190] |
And burn it for all that I care for the past, |
| [03:14.751] |
And rid mother earth of what never should last, |
| [03:21.061] |
And give her the present of ash, |
| [03:28.003] |
Made of a yardsale. |
| [03:35.465] |
|