Thanksgiving Follow

The streets are like the ocean
That the water fills their brims
And your head is just the same thing
If it fills a hat with tears
With the reasons we get
And the gifts we accept
And the promise we request
The promise isn't half of something to wrestle with
Golden gardens and pussing lips
Rose hips and bull whips.

And their ain't no one to talk to
And you can't talk at all
As you sleeping as a baby
As you see you lurking somebody
On the cliff or on the edge
Or on the way into the hedge
It's a murky time to rest
And times crooked to attest
A supple cup of blood
Or an undone vein of mud.

Well I'll be one to take your promise
To the beach or by the way
Of the dreams that pass before us
Or the murders journey towards
Some ideal that's innovation
For sleeping on a stone
Or being in your death bed
Or seeing that your blood rests
On the bottom of the canyon in the morning.