I let my hands get caught in all the flamenWell I cannot play againnWhen do you ask me if I am okaynI see it when we dancennAnd make a pouter's portrait on the stepsnOh my it is divinenBut there's just one more question I will asknIs all this really mine?nnInside my head hell screams it must be timenThis weather can't be rightnWe rode our horses to the outer edgenThe crusty dry devidennAnd we became the people nwe had never meant to benThose dying flamesnThe pieces we did not want to receivennAnd when you come home from your dinner's darlingndo you want to fight?nAnd when I cut the line within my handsnwill you still want to cry?nnAnd when your gal decides she's on her ownnYou'll rethink your romancenYou never wanted careful anywaynYou're taking down that fencennBut when you come into the kitchennI am waiting at the sinknMy salty fingers run across the cupboardnDrenching it with skinnnWe are alivenThose rare descendants of the faithless bratsnWho bit their tonguesnWho screamed instead to scare their unworth sonsnnAnd in the treesnthey built their truthnTheir meaningless machinesnnWe grew from beansnthat froze beneath the snownin late '16n