My mind racing through a cloister of dreams,
Parliaments and pulpits ringing in my ears,
Moral dilemmas fermenting my fears
And the ones who have left are still here it
seems.
The hair of the dog is a shaggy illusion,
No lock of black, no tress of white,
The soot in the heart of the drops invite
Lies of silence, the ultimate confusion.
No lock of black, no tress of white,
The soot in the heart of the drops invite
Lies of silence, the ultimate confusion.
Tumbleweed drifts, abandons high ground,
The true cure of loneliness; being alone.
Virtue remains a pointless comparison
We are all born lost, most never found.
The true cure of loneliness; being alone.
Virtue remains a pointless comparison
We are all born lost, most never found.
If we don’t stay here we might as well stay anywhere
Country butter sunlight in Dillon’s lane,
The warped reservoir of memory resurrecting the pain,
Every journey is as snowflake; no two compare.
Country butter sunlight in Dillon’s lane,
The warped reservoir of memory resurrecting the pain,
Every journey is as snowflake; no two compare.
