There's no beast,
|
obviously.
|
The floor just creaks,
|
obviously.
|
The morning with coffee was snowy and sweet,
|
and there was this small, snow-white dog
|
that was barking at our feet,
|
honestly.
|
|
drove all day to the vacant beach.
|
Grey mist hanging over the sea,
|
alleys clogged with magazines,
|
and the boardwalk is empty.
|
The house in the valley is open this week,
|
imagine the sea looking in
|
at the slowly moving sheets.
|
Honestly.
|
|
If you feel weak, leave it to me.
|
If you need sleep, leave it to me.
|
Need wool socks for your feet, leave it to me.
|
Need a walk on the beach, leave it to me.
|
An ear into which to weep, leave it to me.
|
A shoulder on which to sleep, leave it to me.
|
|
And leave it to me to not speak
|
when I pass you on the street.
|
Leave it to me to feel weak,
|
leave it to me to run from your feet.
|
Leave it to me to not speak
|
when I pass you on the street,
|
leave it to me to feel weak,
|
leave it to me, number thirty-three,
|
leave it to me.
|
|
-----------------
|
He Passes Number Thirty-Three
|
| Okkervil River |
