He writes these words on your skin You turn your head from him There’s always things That can’t be said But Joseph holds The key to them
He lays these songs on your tongue But its time to pay For what you’ve done Your scattered holes in unpaid debts Are all cataloged In Joseph's head
Your brother is drunk here at your side Waiting for your breath of life But how can you sing what you know to be fake You’ll never wash Joseph's mouth of your face
First scratch into this dusty wooden stage A History of your best and wasted days There is no place to run from Joseph's truth His hands are on your throat, but feeding you May the river tie a rope around your feet And drag your mind and body out to sea Then thank the sky with colors, down from below The universal mud where Joseph grows