Hell On The Throat
A line of strands to mark the trail.
No one said it would be easy.
I must admit,
I thought that risk was better waged in younger seasons.
Years in the cold, burn in my throat.
Everything I say burns like cinders.
But it's hard to belong to a girl or a song,
In the crease of a strangling winter.
Strange to be lost
Stranger still to be lone in the strings of a twisting line.
Along the way the turns are sharp
No one said they would be easy
I must admit I thought the trip was better in younger seasons.
But all these years in the pursuit made a man of a fool
Till every word I say is on waver.
Why it's hard to belong to a girl or a song in the case of a selfish believer
It's strange to be lost and stranger still to be lone in the strings in a twisting line x 2
And when the path I have made from the grass to the grave
I will love you still
And when the sand turns to glass and all that's left is the past and I will love you still.
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