It’s a feeling I can’t place, written expression on my face. You grab your coat and we plan out our escape. The black cat in the alleyway heard you heard a ghost. We seen three men hanging high up from a leafless tree.
Autumn is falling into slow and dying days. You always seem to fall apart in the loveliest ways.
Numb ourselves into the horror of watching brown and red and yellow fade to white on top of the ugliest grey. I take it more personal than most. Feel like nothing coming in, and you’ll say nothing on your way out.
Lay me down and let my body turn to stone. I heard you haven’t heard. Open up your ears, the sound out there is deafening it ranges somewhere between neither here nor there.
With the first snow when the worst of us have turned to stone, we’ll be with our sins so high up in that leafless tree. Count your lucky stars with hands tied behind your back. Swinging with the doors that open, never let you in.
**this song owes a tremendous debt to Richard Hugo’s poem “The Milltown Union Bar” from The Lady In Kicking Horse Reservoir (1973)**
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