Gypsy cat chains

Come riding through

Lay me down and walk away.

Father’s dirty nickel fingers

Trace lines on the

Dirty sawmill floor

Trees on fire

Screaming shallow secrets

From the bottom of their

Cast-iron hearts

Fallen on dead ears

And the terrible truth of our time

To float from the burning sky

Is to die a thousand lives

To try a thousand times

To cry but one cheer

Just like a million Sundays