Holistic centipedes graze,
Your hoarding corded phones,
like you got none.
The old man in the travelogue van says,
"Excuse me, do you have a map son?"
Farmland, turning to sand,
He says my neighbor's coming down with a shotgun.
When here was this map written?
Michigan it looks like a left-handed mitten.
All the lakes gone wrong in the elegant fog,
And the jobs, son, like fire wood, their splitting.
The gas can ran, and the snow began,
And my Quaker gun, it's still not shootin'.
And all his thoughts come down,
Like a rainy cloud, like a foreign sound.
And all my neighbors call early in the morning.
And all his blood streams, cocaine party scenes,
And elements of foreign dreams,
Call you when you’re sleeping.
45 minutes go by,
Not a sound from the cops, everybody’s faking.
The old man from Saginaw says, "What do you do?"
Up here we’re still making.
Cause that river’s all brown,
And isotope sounds,
And this whiskey tastes mighty watered down.
And all these lumber towns,
Like rain clouds dispensin’ foreign sounds,
And all my neighbors call so early in the morning.
And all his weak knees, like beauty queens,
Growing old like earth’s trees,
And he’ll shoot you when you’re sleeping.
credits
from Please Be Still,
released August 23, 2016
Written by Trevor Lyon, BMI
Trevor Lyon - vocals & rhythm guitar, Karl Benitez - Wurlitzer piano/Rhodes piano? Nick Nordus - lead guitar, Eric Weisenstein - bass guitar, Patrick Long - drums
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