Hell On The Throat

A line of strands to mark the trail.

No one said it would be easy.

I must admit,

I thought that risk was better waged in younger seasons.

Years in the cold, burn in my throat.

Everything I say burns like cinders.

But it's hard to belong to a girl or a song,

In the crease of a strangling winter.

Strange to be lost

Stranger still to be lone in the strings of a twisting line.

Along the way the turns are sharp

No one said they would be easy

I must admit I thought the trip was better in younger seasons.

But all these years in the pursuit made a man of a fool

Till every word I say is on waver.

Why it's hard to belong to a girl or a song in the case of a selfish believer

It's strange to be lost and stranger still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line x 2

And when the path I have made from the grass to the grave

I will love you still

And when the sand turns to glass and all that's left is the past and I will love you still.