scrape back the soil’s top and blink the beckoned blind,
and plow down the broken homes to the california line.
watch the suspects sail the tide pool dry.
because inside the still-life’s paws,
stream down a shattered stance and you can,
keep quiet, call me failed,
but just don’t paint it black.
we don’t want a funeral on our hands.
florence, to find you among the wailing.
oh florence will i find you married to the dawn?
bail out! the bottom’s bored, your face painted stark white.
and don’t call this wreckage home if you don’t believe in why,
we started walking down this line.
besides the meaning is lost, the chords without the dance.
and i saw who is staying, calling quits,
when you’re forced to show your hand.
but i’ve got all the glory i can stand.
so take back the tongues and pull the black veil off the clouds.
there’s no grass beneath my feet as the knowing highway howls,
of my friends back there in the ground.
florence, to find you among the wailing.
oh florence will i find you married to the dawn?
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