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No shadowNo stars |
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No moonNo care |
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NovemberIt only believes |
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In a pile of dead leaves |
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And a moon |
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That's the color of bone |
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No prayers for |
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NovemberTo linger longer |
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Stick your spoon in the wall |
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We'll slaughter them all |
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November has tied me |
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To an old dead tree |
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Get word to |
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AprilTo rescue me |
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November's cold chain |
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Made of wet boots and rain |
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And shiny black ravens |
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On chimney smoke lanes |
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November seems odd |
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You're my firing squad |
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NovemberWith my hair slicked back |
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With carrion shellac |
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With the blood from a pheasant |
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And the bone from a hare |
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Tied to the branches |
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Of a roebuck stag |
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Left to wave in the timber |
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Like a buck shot flag |
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Go away you rainsnout |
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Go away, blow your brains out |
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November |
