1916

I let my hands get caught in all the flame
Well I cannot play again
When do you ask me if I am okay
I see it when we dance

And make a pouter's portrait on the steps
Oh my it is divine
But there's just one more question I will ask
Is all this really mine?

Inside my head hell screams it must be time
This weather can't be right
We rode our horses to the outer edge
The crusty dry devide

And we became the people
we had never meant to be
Those dying flames
The pieces we did not want to receive

And when you come home from your dinner's darling
do you want to fight?
And when I cut the line within my hands
will you still want to cry?

And when your gal decides she's on her own
You'll rethink your romance
You never wanted careful anyway
You're taking down that fence

But when you come into the kitchen
I am waiting at the sink
My salty fingers run across the cupboard
Drenching it with skin

We are alive
Those rare descendants of the faithless brats
Who bit their tongues
Who screamed instead to scare their unworth sons

And in the trees
they built their truth
Their meaningless machines

We grew from beans
that froze beneath the snow
in late '16