Writer's Minor Holiday

Thumbtacks all spread out across your hometown state

A hollow tree at half mast

Wait until wintertime, leaves a paper trail

And a licorice plant that's overgrown

Like a cabin in the woods on a minor

Like a minor holiday

Wool rich, red plaid wool, Irish whiskey glass

Here comes my fine bright haired lass

Like a trash fire burning and burning it

My heart could never write, the words never fail

And tucked under your cap

And for a moment there's a stillness

Before the room spins again

A minor holiday, spin it again

Ride it out so you can tell

Wasted on the weekend, making good time with my excuse

Where the plot lines are like dead ends

Floating in her eyes at the bottom of a well

Floating in her eyes ride it out for a spell

On a minor holiday, transfer this weight

On a minor holiday, transfer this weight

Minor holiday, minor holiday

Oh, minor holiday, going back and forth

On a minor holi, minor holiday, a minor holiday