Winter rises slowly, shakes his heavy head and staggers to the shore, leans against the branches of the trees that arc above the tired sand. The road that sags beneath him is a scar across the stubble of the land. Rugged, raw and wounded with divorce and endless sleep clutched in his hand.
Bolt the doors and cut the flowers. We won’t say goodnight. If it stays dark straight through the day ...the fire burns until it’s light. You can latch and lock the shutters down. If it stays dark until the spring then we will sing until it’s light.
Foolish, sorry heroes fill the cemetery row by empty row. Seeds, once sewn, forgotten. Whorish shimmering nostalgia glimmers gold. Hindsight trades at half the rate it did when idle kids had idle hands, the market for it caving in. We’re slaving at the hearth against the cold.
released December 6, 2012
Mario Costa, Mike Means, Tim Catz: 1st, 2nd and 3rd bass.
Ed Mac: shortstop.
Kevin Grant: deep in left field.
Recorded by Trevor Vaughan @ The Colisseum.
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