Hay and a clean stall And ivy on a garden wall And a sign saying sold And no coat for the bad cold
I believe in you. Do you believe in me? What do you want to do? Are we leaving the city?
On the black road Through the gold fields While the fields are plowed Towards what we are allowed
The bridle bends in idle hands And slows your canter to a trot But can’t commit. We post and sit in impotence.
The harder the hit, the deeper the dent. We seek out fame, we seek a name In our credentials, paved in glass Trying to master incidentals
Bleach a collar, leech a dollar From our cents The longer you live, the higher the rent Beneath a pale sky Beside the old barn Below the white cloud Is all we are allowed
Here, the light will seep And the scythe will reap And spirit will rend In counting toward the end
In december of that year The word came down that she was here The days were shorter I was sure if she came round I’d hold my ground.
I can do what they alluded to A change that came to pass Spring did range, weeping grass And sleepless broke Itself upon my winter glass.
And I could barely breathe for seeing All the splintered light that leaked A fish is fleeting, launched in flight But starched in light Bright and bleeding, bleach the night With dawn deleting in that high sun After our good run When the spirit bends Beneath knowing it must end
And I did all I want here To draw my gaunt spirit to bow Beneath what I am allowed Beneath what I am allowed