Towing the Line

Towing the line

I watch the host drink all the wine

And now she rambles through hue

And hue of night

The old man is a painter

Of tired seascapes, tired of adventures

So my mind wonders, picking at the table

To cure the raw

Like a bird in a world of no trees

You will hum up there in your disbelief

I know I’m a hard rock

To drag around

Love is in the early mornings

And the shadows under the trees

Not in a cuckolded ashes

Floating down from the broken bridge

Down here, I’ll crow for you

You crow for me

Down here, I’ll crow for you

You crow for me

Towing the line

I watch the host drink all the wine

And now I’m purring

For a drop of anything

Throwing stones at your window

You turn to me as if it’s sinful

Why can’t you be like the black bird

And sing

I say I’m the Westerlies in Ireland

So decadent and violent

Can’t you see I will fold you

Clawing at the bedrock

Love is in the early mornings

And the shadows under the trees

Not in a cuckolded ashes

Floating down from the broken bridge

Down here I’’ll crow for you

You crow for me

Down here, I’ll crow for you

You crow for me