Saturday, February 28, 2009

Farewell Mister James

We've made it back to the shore's edge
the wind's calling the tides
they're bringing me back the salt and sands
but I just can't swim this time
I'll carve my song into the rolling waves
then turn my shoulders to the ice
you can call me anything, old friend
just don't expect my reply

Chorus: so you can curse at your saviors
or set your rivers ablaze
there's just nothing here for me now
Mister James

Yes, I remember the blood in your eyes
and our postcards from wastelands
the smoke we blew into morning's vapors
how holy water turned to mud in our hands
you plunged your lips into my Irish chest
but I could never understand
whether you were the devil's son, the devil's king
or the saint of the Badlands


Well our back pages and tainted skin
dampened by the bolts of some madman's moon
couldn't deliver me from the soul's persecutor
and my wild mouth broke too soon
I can't keep running with the alley serpents
into raw-heated streams of maroon
strike a match against your thief's cold wall
I'm stepping into the highlands of truth


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