Towing The Line

Towing the line

I watched the host drink all the wine

And now she rambles through the who and who have nots

The old man is a painter of tired seascapes

Tired of adventure, so my mind wanders

Picking at the table to cure the wrong

Like a bird in a world with no trees

You were hung up there in your disbelief

I know I'm a hard rock to drag around

Love is in the early mornings

In the shadows under the trees

Not in the cuckolded ashes

Floating down from the rookery

Down here I crow for you, you crow for me

Down here I crow for you, you crow for me

Towing the line

I watched the host drink all the wine

And now I'm purring for a drop of anything

Throwing stones at your window

You turn to me as if it's simple

Why can't you be like the blackbird and sing?

I say, "I'm the westerlies in Ireland"

So decadent and violent

Can't you see I'm a forager

Crawling at the bedrock

Love is in the early mornings

In the shadows under the trees

Not in the cuckolded ashes

Floating down from the rookery

Down here I crow for you, you crow for me

Down here I crow for you, you crow for me