Out the rattling pane I follow my wandering gaze, and the Greyhound's humming refrain sounds the same as it's verses. My thoughts collect like rocks in the wet, muddy bottom of my chest, that starts and stops in coughs and curses. I'm bloated and full with the wet stones I haul along.
So I drank away all I should have saved, but I won't let the waves wash away my momentum. The anchor that drags across the bottom of my chest carves a trench into my flesh that swallows all of my good intentions. When I'm gone make your empty bed my arms and let the silence be my song.
Anywhere you go you roam, you own no load to carry, call no house a home, my poor stray pup, you know you own every bone you bury. You're married to the cold, 'The Lone Road' and 'The Struggle'. You old gray garden shovel, you're just digging up a hole to fall in when you're not watching where you walk.
When an animal dies, it finds a hole to crawl inside. Eager love of mine, don't come into the night to try & find me. I'm long gone. In a hole with my saint, and you couldn't lift this weight. I will never sink.
I will never bail all this water from the boat.
So the anchor that drags across the bottom of my chest carves a trench into my flesh & I'm opened up.
When you're bus flies off the road, my little skipping stone, remember that you weren't in control. If you're afraid of death, my little skipping stone, remember that you've been thrown. Remember, you're alone. Remember that the only thing keeping you afloat is inherited momentum. Spinning out above an ending, we're standing on the beach, counting down, until you sink.
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