Through the rain
|
and all the clatter,
|
under the Freemont bridge,
|
I saw a pigeon fly,
|
fly in fear
|
from a raptor
|
come to take its life.
|
|
Does it closed
|
and for the captured,
|
I funnel the fear through my ancient eyes.
|
See in flight
|
where I know all the bitter mechanics of life.
|
|
Under my hat,
|
it breathes,
|
the lines are all imagined.
|
A fact of life
|
I know
|
to hide from my little girls.
|
I know my place amongst
|
the bugs and all the animals.
|
And it's from these ordinary people
|
you were longing to be free.
|
|
In my hotel,
|
and on the TV,
|
a pitcher on the stage
|
like a buzzard cries
|
out a warning,
|
a phony sorrow.
|
He's trying to get a rise.
|
|
Sign of life
|
of an almot.
|
Let him look at your hands,
|
get the angles right.
|
Ace of spades,
|
Port of Morrow,
|
life is death
|
is life.
|
|
I saw a photograph
|
of Cologne in '27,
|
and then a postcard after the bombs in '45.
|
Must have been a world of evil clowns
|
that let it happen.
|
But now I recognize,
|
dear,
|
in these eyes,
|
that you were there
|
and so was I.
|
|
Under my hat, I know
|
the lines are allimagined.
|
A fact of life,
|
I must impress my little girls.
|
I know my place amongst
|
the creatures
|
in the pageant.
|
And there are flowers
|
in the garbage,
|
and a skull
|
under your curls.
|
|
-----------------
|
Port Of Morrow
|
| The Shins |
