Black Water Child

Down here underneath the microscope,

it's hard to cope.

don't hide your face in your hands,

'cause if your eyes play tricks,

it's outta my control.

it's gonna be a long cold winter.

the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child

if you don't love me, well, don't shove me

out into the dark

without a flashlight or a spark.

any stitches cling like bitches to my arms

for all my charms.

it's gonna be a crooked little winter

the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child

she's walking home

to the devil's flowers.

the broken bones

of heavy hours.

we stayed out late,

it's a lighthouse trait.

and we'll take our time