My relatives out West, they
know how to hide people
Tasting myself on a country veranda
Making a paint by numbers when I was a boy
Oh, such a boy, every kind of a boy
November, heavy with nectar

Smiling quietly, letting them tell
The same old stories over and over
And now you in the picture
Well, when you're awake anyway
They'll let you hear the stories now for the first time
Get it in your bloodline, keep it all
Moving

But now the stakes are higher, as we hide
as we paint and forget.
January, heavy with ice
The only time you ever really have
something to lose
When nobody wants to find you
Certainly not ourselves

The factory at county line lit its fires early tonight
That sky will never be the same
I can feel an old breaking road below me
Not quite notstalgic
yet.
Fresh off the vine from
One heartbreak
In no particular hurry to
another.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.