My babe, my babe what would you want with one like me? I'm breathing just to breathe, and don't you know it's killing me. This dark road I'm on I must travel alone, remnants of men all but blackened bone. Through thorns and spurs and bullets I've been, across rivers and cities to get back to when I could hold you close to me. My babe, my babe come on and coil up close to me. We'll sit under that old black ash tree when all the kings and lords just cannot carry on. I will just laugh and sing them all a song. And as they march to a tune of tragedy and romance, their pockets will be thinning, but it's not at all by chance for its all I can do to live, you see. My babe, my babe the edge of the moon reflects on the sea, and i can't help but wonder late at night you ever dream of me? As worlds beyond our own blink in and out of view, I can feel the flames from the stars crimson flues, and the beasts of ubiquity grit and grind their jaws as they stifle their locust wings, they yearn to devour the laws of their own paperback discrepancies. My babe my babe how can you be the only one that's free? With no price to hold you down here in captivity? So, wash yourself in milk and don the crowns of love, and bless the head of everyman like some spirit from above, and never forget I'm smiling, from my place in the ice melting slow that hold my legs stiff, and will not let me go. So, please listen to all my lilting pleas that come in on the warm and slow, traipsing breeze. Oh I wanna know, can you hear me? My babe, my babe you've got me down here on my knees. If there's one thing I know the night and the day will never agree with the words from your mouth they overflow like wine, and fill up the hourglass, each word a grain of time that pulls your boots a little deeper down towards the grave, and I know with all my heart there's nothing you can do to save anyone's providential clarity. My babe, my babe you're gonna be the death of me as white angel smoke billows out of the chimneys of the factories that dot this disintegrating field, all barren waste waiting five hundred centuries to yield one single bright magnolia, cast in a greyscale hue growing out your heart, all beaten black and blue. Oh my god is that a riot of angels!? No, no its just a murder of crows. They're laughing at the soldiers who that they didn't know the truth that comes with killing, and the beauty that comes with death. They know they've seen her face before on the front of the Post-Gazette. And her raven hair curls down to hide her face. And I will smile lovingly as my mind is wholly erased. And I'll start it over, I'll begin it all anew, and the only thing I'll want to remember is how to get back to you.