I

think

I'll

go

home

.

and

mull

this

o-

ver

'til

I

cram

it

down

my

throat.

Atlong

last

its

crashed,

its

col-

los-

sal

mass

has

bro-

ken

up

in-

to

bits

in

mymoat.

Rip

the

mattress

off

the

floor,

walk

the

cramps

off

,

go

meander

in

the

cold.

Heavy

and

dark

skinned

,

hiding

the

fact

you're

dead

again,

un-

der-

neath

the

po-

wer

lines

seeking

shade.

Far

a-

bove

our

heads

are

the

icy

heights

that

contain

all

reason.

Its

a

lus-

cious

mix

of

words

and

tricks

that

let

us

bet

when

we

know

we

should

fold

On

rocks

I

dreamt

of

where

we

stepped

and

of

the

whole

mess

of

roads

we're

now

on.