Somewhere in some kin roots with fifths
I'll find the hollows there and follow
Where the fit do not go
A subtle wind always blows me back
Spigot spitting nothing
But some frustrated air
I'd put the hollows against tomorrow's
Many sicks and sorrows
Or a sinking ship with cargo
Did both my grandfather's beg like this?
Mad with little fists
Under thick mustaches?
Lighting the only tablecloth
With the last book of matches?
Caught on something manic and well to do
In a smokestack panic
Or in little shoes you quit
When they start kids pitching
With your two palsy palms
And all ten digits itching
Now on the west coast
Dressed most like a little league coach
I'm low key, old keys
No breadcrumbs where I went
Old muscle, slow hustle
Oh god must me silent and far away
For us to hear but nothing this way
[Verse 2: Yoni Wolf] x2
I'd like to think I'd take dictation
From something big and evasive
That I've yet to see the face of
Bracing
But when I'm awake
I'm like a little twig
Breaking under heavy winds weight
Or a moth hole in a sweater
I know I could do it better
(I know I could do it better
I know I could do it better...)