It's pretty good, the wine/ the way that we look at/ ten to eight in the morning/ just talking, still awake in/ dawn and dew drinking,
thinking / always...
Remembering the laughs, the time/ we got high for seven days down/ in new orleans and it seemed like/ no one else knew we were
just/ the moon and sun in fog before the/ heat burned it away and took / the sleep from tired heads on/ beds of reaching hands, of
road trip/ breath and long tall freedom
And then you long/ for the days of trippin' down/ the long road just reading the/ signs that show you the way to/ a higher place you
meditate to/ feel the quiet of the earth/ that was back/ when we used to be alright
Another shame, the way/ the city smells worse on/ a hot day in august...2 pm/ right before us good movers/ move and us shakers
break/ our hearts getting home to / country love and the garbage/ dump by the dried up creek/ near the forest that once had life/ and
then i turn on the news/ somebody shoot me soon/ i'm tired of over heating, falling/ quick to bending knees and/ broken veins, of
always needing/ faith to get to shore and break/ all the vows i've made
No time or presence / of mind to wonder why/ no time for questions of/ why i wonder why/ something's wrong...again/ the noise
shakes the ground/ there's a rage in/ the crowd and i'm a face/ in the crowd, what's your name?/ you're sinkin' in the sand/ standing
next to me, a river/ running through your pants, afraid/ to trust me when my hands / are helping you