Towing the Line

Towing the line I watched the host drink all the wine And now she rambles through the who and who have nots The old man is a painter of tired seascapes Tired of adventure, so my mind wanders Picking at the table to cure the wrong Like a bird in a world with no trees You were hung up there in your disbelief I know I'm a hard rock to drag around Love is in the early mornings In the shadows under the trees Not in the cuckolded ashes Floating down from the rookery Down here I crow for you, you crow for me Down here I crow for you, you crow for me Towing the line I watched the host drink all the wine And now I'm purring for a drop of anything Throwing stones at your window You turn to me as if it's simple Why can't you be like the blackbird and sing? I say, "I'm the westerlies in Ireland" So decadent and violent Can't you see I'm a forager Crawling at the bedrock Love is in the early mornings In the shadows under the trees Not in the cuckolded ashes Floating down from the rookery Down here I crow for you, you crow for me Down here I crow for you, you crow for me