Towing The Line
Towing the line
I watched the host drink all the wine
And now she rambles through the who and who of nots
The old man is a painter of tired seascapes
Tired old adventure so my mind wanders
Picking at the table to cure the rot
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 turned 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
Clawing at the bedrock?"