Paper strips and leather jump around the gust
Huddling over loess and puddles of eraser dust
The moon's a giftless guilt trip drawing on a string
Of bowed horizons loaded with waves of doubtful kings
And the paperless few with bibles of words
Are a fire-bound flock of small paper birds
The watermark traced the tidal wave's taste
While the man on the moon made the sad Alex face
We stole back the stories we thought we had lost
Despite feeling right we still pay the cost
We seek for to run, we run for to sit
One run and we're done for one story writ
The slithering neon letters are promising a fix
Of rumor-riddled murders and scores of dirty tricks
The buzz and rattle droning is a quiet threat
The bite that I'm bemoaning is the bite that I will get
The breathing is freezing, I stare at the ground
Old feelings are left with failed trips homeward-bound
The curtain is closing on snakes, birds, and kings
The one who is heard is the loudest who sings
On the diamond-littered sidewalks of the cold Chicago night
The hands rise for attention, the pigs touch down from flight
Where I had met the miles of apocalyptic folk
Their rows of mirrored teeth gleamed lame behind the smoke
And the featherless flocks were at hand to ignite
The waves cast cloud arrows that ran through the light
The face in the sky was a cry poorly lit
So I stared in the eyes of the rattlesnakes smiling who don't give a shit
It wasn't a crime of passion, I was the damned exception
Try if I can but I am just a man
I am just a man
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