Frontier Ruckus - Granduncles Of St. Lawrence County lyrics

Papa's standing sort of bovine In the shrine of his brother's room, the priest Recently deceased in this North Country heat Lunch meat on the kitchen counter Mary's counting bug bites on a sunburned shoulder I'm counting sacramental rites and old crucifixes All my great-uncles' nights of co*ktail mixes Are over Then we encounter Accidental modern radio hits Spits his brother's boom-box From the room walks Papa and then sits And then it's Time Where the handicap tourist-trap putt-putt courses And trailers patched with corrugated scrap metal and divorces Stand Well, I got a granduncle and he lives inland Where the pure manure summer vapors get fanned By electric fence whir and a wave of the hand Of the Amish infants standing barefoot in the sand While the gas-station kids hang out idle and bland At the Subway Well, him and Anne died down in some dim town Where he built a swimming pool into the swampy farm ground Where the accumulation of the dimming pounds down Since the 70s The pool Has a cool blue aqua shade Like the Gatorade that my dad likes to drink Where you'll peer into the pump-house, dear Or the diving board where you laid on the brink But please don't freeze or fade Like the bottles of booze That snooze beneath the sink And if my reasoning gets frayed It'll cauterize us tauter ties someday I think When the roofers jump in the seaway At midday in their jean-shorts to cool down We'll go down to Morristown And bask there in the decay And ask where our summer glories drown With the subtle carnage of the bloated rock ba** s**ing in the bright sky summer boat gas Floating there As we boated past Slinking through the stony Thousand Islands That go sinking in the water with the slickest absence of violence But In the musty attic loft I knew your young sore ecstatic soft Body The waitress' language was blaring out, “Can you Bear the despair of the typos on the menu?” I wheeled you through the field with the billboards You wheeled the Ford to the sordid Price Chopper Where every shopper was leaning in the struggle to stand Like the green copper-stained gravestones that sink into the land That night Earthworms were squirming their way through my dark feel Some sermons found permanence on ancient-burned reel-to-reel If permanence is arbitrary Who decides the summers where we will Be forever? I'd like to meet that thing It's a dimming thing