there's a hand at dusk
in the wake in the water its mine
can you take the palm of it
for every time you change your mind
you are the flesh of skin
seen through the leaves of anxious trees
the summer's touch just above the knee
just above the knee
there's architecture here
and there are mountain peaks
and places dwelled upon by those
who climb much higher than me
like so many miles you are compiled
into books of maps by men with hands
can you believe that we will all get old
it's getting old i know, i know
i'll hold your hair back when you're sick
it's getting old i know, i know
you still look good to me in that knee-length checkered dress
it's getting old i know, i know
you still look good to me in that knee-length checkered dress
it's getting old
it's getting old
the emperor of time has been stationed
devidends melts into all forms of light (?)
i shall crack his bone
and chase him to far shores of the sea
implicate my dark appetite
the emperor of time has been stationed
when the paper ends, it melts into all forms of light (?)
i shall crush his bone
and chase him to the white shores of the sea
implicate my appetite