Burnt my guitar, and I ran the canvas through.
My books are on fire, and I did it all for you.
My bones got bound, my knuckles cracked and bruised.
As soon as they're paid, the bomb will be diffused.
If I put my hope in the hands of a grain of possibility
that you might value this refrain, whoa oh.
One night's sleeping in a drift of snow.
The frostbite came; the fingers had to go.
I'd like to say that it felt like all was lost,
but the truth remains - the future is bad luck.
Can it be possible? That melodies needn't just be,
means to ends - maybe they can be significant.
In the singing of and the writing of the clumsiness,
and the fumbling for some truth, which never arrives,
but I glimpsed for a second.
released March 25, 2014
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