Tekster: Ten Foot Pole. Bad Mother Trucker. Nova Scotia.

i watch the objects form in cloudy skies

a bat, a pirate ship and then her eyes

so i pound a shot down

punch

my arm and set up a new round

till me, myself and i cant concentrate


the clouds conspire to show me what i miss


hair, her cheeks, her lips puckered up to kiss

her

the wind blows


drags her nose
through her forehead like a horn grows

the omen


clear but years too late
nova scotia's so damn cold yeah


i moved here to give her space


drinking stoli to kill my
theres not enough to lose her face
memory




she poisoned our hometown
so i moved a half a world away


where frozen


winter chokes the color
leaving black and white and gray