Dry The River
Night Owls
On this little cold parcel of land where our father's fathers livedThe same old trees scraping innocentlysince our grandparents were kids.You were born in a terrible stormand your Ma said "It's a sign."You're never at peace with your back facing eastand your itchy feet like mine.We should change our names and go for guts and glory,never cut our hair, or give a care for right.'Cause they've got us by the throat, they've got us on a tight rope.You can tell your furious father, he can have my guts for garters if he likes.Some need, like the trunk of a tree, to accumulate alone,and in time grow ripe on the vineand I think we might be those.On this cold little parcel of landwhere our father's fathers livedWe scrape our knees climbing innocent treesLike our father's fathers didWe should change our names and go for guts and gloryNever cut our hair, or give a care for right.Cause they've got us by the throat, they've got us on a tight ropeYou can tell your furious father he can have my guts for garters if he likesYou can tell your furious father he can have my guts for garters if he likes.
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