I'm looking for the wind with his head down
Praying for a cause to cease his
I'm wondering if it's true that every man can come anew
I'm stumbling out against the wind
There's reason for the song the birds are singing
There's reason for the men who shoot to kill
But there's no reason for a man who'd rather die than come again
How I wish to sing their sovereign tune
As I'm waking the room snaps and scratches;
The light shines a glow upon my sheets
Now I wake with a regret heavy as these tired eyes
Creaking like these lonesome bones
I'm looking for the verse sung by man and god and grace
And I'm humbled by it's righteous song
Wondering where the hell I went wrong
I would scurry up the stairs about a moon ago
Now the floorboards just dream of what they've lost
They withhold their boyish sound; just a bitter silence now;
Just a plain night to waste away
Beneath the window, old and crooked, sits a crow
Whose mouth doesn't open, doesn't close
And he waits for a clue, for a sign, or for a close
I sit beneath my window too
As I'm leaving I'll go looking for my own:
For the old man, for the sign, for the close
For I'm a coward little kid who couldn't stand to watch him go
Now I'll pay my dues in time
I'm looking for the verse sung by man and god and grace
And I hope to go one day to sing along
To reverse my own awful song
