Fox's Dream Of The Log Flume (feat. Mewithoutyou)

Provisionally "I"

Practically alive

Mistook signs for signified

And so since have often tried

To run them off the cliff like Gadarene swine

And tied my thought-ropes in anchor bends

Wondering whether we were someone better then

Or maybe just better able to pretend

And what better means to our inevitable end

No, I don't know if I know

Though some with certainty insist

"No, certainty exists"

Well, I'm certain enough of this:

In the past fourteen years

There's only one girl I've kissed

In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier

We sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel

Until looking down at the waltzer and out at the sea

I asked her "do you ever have that recurring fantasy?"

"Where you push little kids from the tops of the rides?"

She shook her head no I said "oh, neither do I"

And with my grandmother's ring, I went down on one knee

And the subsequent catastrophe, has since, haunted me

Like a fiberglass ghost

In the attic, my inconveniently selective memory

As provisionally "You"

Mercifully withdrew

All the bearing points we thought we knew

Day's run, day's set plot

Our compass shot

We sailed waywardly on

Singing out midnight archer songs

Until well past dawn

It's still dark on the deck of our boats

Haphazardly blown

Broken bows, our aimless arrow-words

Don't mean a thing

So, by now I think it's pretty obvious that there's no God

And there's definitely a God

I dreamt on the rocks at the Asbury dunes

And that you jumped from the top of the Log Flume

And they gather like wolves on the boardwalk below

And they're howling for answers no wolf can know

I charged at the waves with a glass in my hand

And was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand

And landed beside your remains on the stones

Where your cold fingers wrapped round my ankle bone

While maybe ten feet away was a star

Thousands of times the size of our sun

Exploding like tiny balloons

You'd throw darts at

I slept until our chest was full

Of yarn we spun from Shetland wool

In socks from where the Dorset grows

Sheared and scoured hours

Before the rooster crows

The price of German silver fell

Threw disused thalers down

The superstition well