written in a trailer surrounded by wolves
It’s 4am and the scent of your candle
still lingers on my fingers with the scent of your hair
and cigarette ash in the air
my fingertips are stinging from all their overuse
and my voice from the singing
I caught something from you I’m sure
I’m coughing up blood heart’s blood
from a wound so deep
most wouldn’t even know it was there
catch a glimpse of the moon
the sky’s like ice
and though my eyes sting
I wouldn’t trade this sensation for anything
Well I know it’s the start of the winter season
where the weak things die but the strong thrive
and maybe the moon in December will see us leaping
and maybe the moon in December will just see us fall
It’s 5am and I’m caught but good
fresh and full like never before
the moon casts its glare on the wolves outside your door
this Love is in the substance
in everything that we sing
we create this passion from which they all shrink from
whether you carry me or I carry you
we’ll get the fame and the glory
standing in the tunnel the trains cut through us
no lying in the ditch they’ll just rush by
we’ll stare at the lights no squinting
we’ll catch every spy by the scruff of his neck
I’ll help you through this
I know it’s the end of the summer season
where the weak things die and the strong survive
and the moon in July might see us weeping
but the moon in July will see us through
well it’s 6am
and the ticking of the clock cuts through me
I turn to my left but you’re dead to the world
maybe 7 will find me dreaming
but then again I already am
the dreams in my head fall from my mouth to the bed
maybe they’ll lift you up
but maybe I’ll weight you down
I know you have an awful lot on your soul
maybe the moon will burn this feirce for three whole days
but its the last of the moment for us to sing to
©1999 rob hinkal
