Lirieke: Mountain Goats, The. Alpha Incipiens.

the morning comes to a stuttering halt

the cool breeze that blows is somebody's fault

the summer heat tries to burn through

and i look over to warn you but something's happening



the morning glories climb the wall

and you speak in a slow drawl

i'm trying to piece together what you're saying

but the birds are screeching, the hounds are baying

i don't remember there being any hounds around here



we lean back and we clink our glasses

raise the drinks to our thirsty mouths,

and thick as molasses ice cold vodka eases in as

the low pressure system brings the breezes in

and they sashay and pirouette above you

the only thing i know is that i love you

and i'm holding on,

yeah