Towing the Line

Towing the line
I watched the host drink all the wine
And now she rambles through the who and who have nots
The old man is a painter of tired seascapes
Tired of adventure, so my mind wanders
Picking at the table to cure the wrong
Like a bird in a world with no trees
You were hung up there in your disbelief
I know I'm a hard rock to drag around

Love is in the early mornings
In the shadows under the trees
Not in the cuckolded ashes
Floating down from the rookery
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me

Towing the line
I watched the host drink all the wine
And now I'm purring for a drop of anything
Throwing stones at your window
You turn to me as if it's simple
Why can't you be like the blackbird and sing?
I say, "I'm the westerlies in Ireland"
So decadent and violent
Can't you see I'm a forager
Crawling at the bedrock

Love is in the early mornings
In the shadows under the trees
Not in the cuckolded ashes
Floating down from the rookery
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me