I weave this twill into a song
a prayer flag I sing to myself
woodblock print of superstition take me
I don't want to know why this world is so hard
Don't leave me in this sharps disposal
this prayer box of scatterbliss
don't leave me in love that looks like this
a prayer box for what you want
a prayer box for what you don't
a prayer box for what you don't want to be
a prayer box for what you are and you don't see
You grew out of this lye
you grew out of its loneliness and hydroxides
enough to peel but it left your hands clean
you grew out of this little town
all the "cul-de-sac" and "crescent"
kids you know where that could have led you to
you grew out of this town coded in soft colours
tanned and dusty roads
who knows what it was or what it could have been
I weave this twill into a passage back
to the cottonseed hull before it cracked
to the tender leaves we wrapped on our new skins
A prayer box for what you want to quit
a prayer box for what you think will make you fit
a drop-box for prayers like used up bliss
and love don't look this
You grew out of this little town
and after all it said it never would change for anyone
man you know where that always leads
you grew out of this town coded on soft colours
by men who held on and who held it all in
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