| Trouble
|
| You found me again
|
| I struggled some to stay away
|
| But I fit so nicely in your hand
|
| Fight through the lie
|
| There’s no time to sharpen claws
|
| Or shake my wings in skittish flight
|
| Trouble takes on dull and doubtful legs
|
| Says have the moon and have the sun and sip politely from the dregs
|
| Although you’ll use my feathers for a bed
|
| I’d rather sleep in hell than back in boring death
|
| I’m terrified of my heart
|
| Its hunger for whatever it may want
|
| The way it stops and starts
|
| Yeah it may saunter into war
|
| Trouble doesn’t keep a civil score
|
| You use but words to speak to me
|
| And for you I am pellucid as a shadow seaI
|
| Trouble, I will run with you again
|
| I’ll take the moon I’ll take the sun wade forever in the dregs
|
| I’ll sail my beating heart away from shore
|
| Shall it not return, I’ll know that trouble stole the oar |