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