Dead-skin fingers pick me a rose
I won’t even feel the sting
I’ve sewn my last stitch
I’ve worn my black clothes
I’m leaving my needle and string
Hand-delivered tunes from Mozart
I borrowed his magical flute
Axe took my finger
Poppy got my heart
But I gave you the wealth of my lute
…Yeah I gave you the wealth of my lute
The needle weaves knots the string can’t untie
Covert plots to float in the sky
Like a cosmonaut craves a weather-spy
Like a camp-side moth just trying to dry
You’re a slave when you’re Jeckyll
And a king when you’re Hyde
Your planes are all crashin’
And you can’t close your eye
You really can’t blame me
When I cash in my shows
For a trip in the moonlight
And a tour with the rose
…a tour with the rose
Surrounded by heads of fateful
They shook when I shined my dark star
When answer man asks
Tell him I’m grateful
I was jerry-built to last so far
Indigohowl 