Towing The Line

Towing the line
I watch the host drink all the wine
And now she rambles through the who and who of night

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 watch 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