Wires & Wool

One for the bourgeoisie.
One for the row.
The pace of the guillotine is quickening.
And nothing can stop him for now.

I'll be fine.
Once I repatch these cables to my spine.
Thinning out like a skein of twine.

And in the time it took to write you this song,
I could have crossed my last rubicon.
But the memories of fantasies of melodies,
They strung me back along.

So, I want out.
Put me on a train, anywhere South.
I want out.
I'm prepared to drink a season of drought.

I'll shake off,
This dense desideratum.
Like a slough,
All hail to a mouth sewn shut.

And in the time it took to write you this song,
I could've mapped a million ways home.
But the memories and fantasies were fallacies,
I'd missed it all along.

So, I want out.
Put me on a train, anywhere South.
I want out.
I'm prepared to drink a season of drought.