Towing the line
I watched the host drink all the wine
And now she rambles
Through the who's and who have not's
The old man is a painter
Of tired sea scapes
Tilted adventures
And so my mind wanders
Picking at the table to cure the rot
Like a bird in a world with no trees
You were hung up there in your disbelief
I know I’m a hard rock to drag around
Love is in the early mornings
In the shadows under the trees
Not in the cuckolded ashes floating down from the rookery
Down here I'll crow for you, you crow for me
Down here I'll crow for you, you crow for me
Towing the line
I watched the host drink all the wine
And now I’m purring
For a drop of anything
Throwing stones at your window
You turn to me as if it’s simple
Why can’t you be like the blackbird
And sing
I say I’m the westerlies in Ireland
So decadent and violent
Can’t you see I’m a forager
Clawing at the bedrock
Love is in the early mornings
In the shadows under the trees
Not in the cuckolded ashes floating down from the rookery
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me
Down here I crow for you, you crow for me
