| And so I left when I was just a boy
|
| I swore I’d simply do it all over again
|
| And now up the hill with snow-bit
|
| Blue-tipped fingers, blood from falling
|
| But I can’t go back there no more
|
| In frozen poses, venues lined with pillows
|
| Atlas shouldered some silly blunder or other
|
| You ask for more than this
|
| But I don’t know what more than this is
|
| Is it a motel
|
| With a fashion magazine
|
| In between towns?
|
| I was thinking about my mother
|
| And I wished ill upon myself
|
| Rachel don’t come around here no more
|
| I hear she’s living in Montana
|
| With her brother. |
| I wish her the best
|
| And I hope she can forget me
|
| But the ghost that comes around
|
| Is a dead-ringer for her
|
| I see her in my nightmares
|
| Discussing modern literature
|
| With her hands around my neck
|
| In a motel
|
| With a fashion magazine
|
| In between towns
|
| I was thinking about my mother
|
| And I wished ill upon myself |