20170428 - Blown Up Jet Fighters

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lyrics

If you move in secret hidden hulls,
you can’t cut through a fight with a knife too dull.
If you’re playing hard but you got no strings,
the folks you love won’t hear anything.

Burned books,
and piles of typewriters,
and old computers,
and blown up jet fighters,
and cracked tablets,
and rotary phones,
that’s where we all go.
That is our home.

The rivers shrivel. The garden gets wild.
The ladders of bones collapse into piles.
Walk away from the mirror and be erased,
be the bare walls that scale the staircase.

Burned books,
and piles of typewriters,
and old computers,
and blown up jet fighters,
and cracked tablets,
and rotary phones,
that’s where we all go.
That is our home.

There is no raincoat for what’s coming down.
The true blue fire is once more coming around.
The unforgettable hooks that never made it to the boat,
that tore themselves free and died, but still float.


Burned books,
and piles of typewriters,
and old computers,
and blown up jet fighters,
and cracked tablets,
and rotary phones,
that’s where we all go.
That is our home.
That is our home.

credits

from The Song Diary II, released April 16, 2017

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