The story’s been getting old— I’m sorry
I wrote this a year ago; I burned all the copies
And so it goes; that’s how the dice are rolled
Red flags hidden beneath the folds

These trembling hands are cold and clammy
But mirroring half a smile, uncanny, uncanny
And so it goes; that’s how the dice are rolled
Red flags hidden beneath the folds

Painted fingers tapping on cherry
Painted lids blink in morse
I see the western rain in your eyes
I see those late night lilac skies
Dots and dashes mark where it’s buried
Let’s go digging tonight
I see the starlight spill through the blinds
I hear the canyon call in the night

Canary flew the coop— bad timing
If Mary still loves you, keep climbing, keep climbing
And so it goes, that’s how the dice are rolled
Red flags hidden beneath the folds

Painted fingers tapping on cherry
Painted lids blink in time
I saw the western rain in your eyes
I saw those late night lilac skies
Where are all the things that I buried?
Can I say that I tried
Reading the words and tracing the lines
Painting the lands that you described?

You lived in the mountains
It treated you well, if not for the cold air
And we know there are places
Where it doesn’t snow, but we wouldn’t want to live there

And when your closet is all out of space
Let your hair grow to cover your face
Hide your heart in the gold in your ear
I can hear, I can hear, I can hear
All the memories that we replaced
All the sentences I chose to waste
I said I’d have stories for you in a year
Now we’re here, now we’re here, now we’re here

Painted fingers tapping on cherry
Painted lids blink in time
I saw the western rain in your eyes
I saw those late night lilac skies
Where are all the things that we buried?
Can we say that we tried
Reading the words and tracing the lines
Painting the lands that you described?