Tekster: Mountain Goats, The. Agemo's Hoops.

you were breathing against my throat

covering your laugh up with your long black overcoat

all circles warming up.

and you told me what you were going to do.

and i promised to do the same thing too.

and the air, the air in new england was pure

poison.



the car was parked out back among the trees.

your voice was getting higher by slow degrees.

you were giving me directions.

and you told me where i came from.

well, god bless us everyone.

and the air, the air in new england was pure

poison.

poison.

poison.

poison.