Strands

(álbum: Wide Swing Tremolo - 1998)

There is a slowness on the throttle
Possibility at hand
Painted out of a corner
Brakes to bind the strands

To decide within the barstore
Overshadows feeding in the lurch
Just survived by a stone's throw
The decision wheel's at work

Used to be found it temporary
Sirens stir the seeds of regret
Gathered clouds are unleashing
Sounds to walk and place your bet

Squatters on high stations
The talkers that hold sway
The verbal backslide rushes out
Like grapeshot-fine spray

No anchor drops sanctuary
No earmark begins to show
No finding it uncovered
Just a wide swing tremolo

Broken-down lessons learned
Redeemed on epitaphs
Pop line folded regulars
With countance to switchback

Echo farewell to midnight
To the loneliness of the chase
To the minutes passed as red letter
To the vision fields defaced

No pangs provide the levy
Breaking out of the throes
No revelry decided
Just a wide swing tremolo

No mercy in a pokerface
Twenty year before you go
No sentence yet decided
Just a wide swing tremolo