There is a feeling I must keep from you
As stoned as a ghost in the snow
Now that is a line penned by a divinely guided hand
These lines are crawling snakes up your open legs
Wool on the trees, dust on the eves
Pollen and pitch whisper the scripture
The bark on the pines is worse than its bite
But sounds like a cheap shot
This old motel song you dig when you're stoned
Tailwind carry the birds to the coast
The hills of nomads, we envy their lives
Your eyes will be blue flames
You wear them pale and fine
This is the line I'll give you true as the dawn
But if you are
Straining the weight of a sorrowful sky
Cold and gray clouds staining the sounds
While the furious eye on the sun is upon us
To watch the clouds roll along
Old Mr. Centipede climbing tobacco leaves
The way your breasts dance while we're making love
When you're sober and cold
All of the lines have been lies this far
Looking for livers and hearts for to eat
A picture we love, hills have eyes
