Under waning moon
And feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back
The joke always tends to come true
But without solution, with feet on the ground
Because there on the timberline
Command what is tried, what is true
What I knew, it'd come back to you
What can we do?
The tainted election, the low dirty war
But this is solution and this is amends
So loosen your shoulder blades
Take this palm, follow the lines here are written
Provide you
This quiet serves only to hide you
Why couldn't you?
Here we lie waiting for something to startle
This is your hour to make due
To shake us from gravity's pull
And so the sleeping hours are through
Over the unmoving platoon
And I waited there for you
But there on your windowsill
It won't make a sound 'til you're through
The sorry conclusion, the hole in the sky
Deep cold November shines through
It happened before you came to
And script out the rest of your life
Written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room
