1916

I let my hands get caught in all the flame

Well I cannot play again

When do you ask me if I am okay

I see it when we dance

And make a pouter's portrait on the steps

Oh my it is divine

But there's just one more question I will ask

Is all this really mine?

Inside my head hell screams it must be time

This weather can't be right

We rode our horses to the outer edge

The crusty dry devide

And we became the people

we had never meant to be

Those dying flames

The pieces we did not want to receive

And when you come home from your dinner's darling

do you want to fight?

And when I cut the line within my hands

will you still want to cry?

And when your gal decides she's on her own

You'll rethink your romance

You never wanted careful anyway

You're taking down that fence

But when you come into the kitchen

I am waiting at the sink

My salty fingers run across the cupboard

Drenching it with skin

We are alive

Those rare descendants of the faithless brats

Who bit their tongues

Who screamed instead to scare their unworth sons

And in the trees

they built their truth

Their meaningless machines

We grew from beans

that froze beneath the snow

in late '16