Masher

Most of the brine has got to boil away

Most of the air has got to choke you

Most of June I spent in jail again

I don't mean jail, exactly

Up in the pine tree

Red squirrel looking down at me

I am losing control of the language again

I am losing control of the language again

Most of the things I used to hold onto

Most of the things I used to say to you

Most of the ways I knew around the local roads

Are disappearing daily

High in the cottonwood

You were looking down at me and it sure looked good

Hair hanging down in the leaves

Your neck tilted back to make a rainbow

I was losing control of the language again

I am losing control of the language again