Wires & Wool

One for the bourgeoisie. One for the row. The pace of the guillotine is quickening. And nothing can stop him for now. I'll be fine. Once I repatch these cables to my spine. Thinning out like a skein of twine. And in the time it took to write you this song, I could have crossed my last rubicon. But the memories of fantasies of melodies, They strung me back along. So, I want out. Put me on a train, anywhere South. I want out. I'm prepared to drink a season of drought. I'll shake off, This dense desideratum. Like a slough, All hail to a mouth sewn shut. And in the time it took to write you this song, I could've mapped a million ways home. But the memories and fantasies were fallacies, I'd missed it all along. So, I want out. Put me on a train, anywhere South. I want out. I'm prepared to drink a season of drought.