Til They Cut Me Down

Orange Skies over West Gate traffic flow

Turns the bay to folded sheets of copper down below

Buildings turn from factories to magic lights that glow

And I'm taking on a darkness of my own



Windshield of dead flies, no longer free to roam

Heading out of the roadhouse from one more ever-ringing phone

Movement can make you weary, rushing with the engine's moan

And I'm taking on a feeling she's not in there alone



Night air is wheezing through the jeans and her nightgown

Two bodies won't be freezing where candlelight has them bound

Windowless breaking is sometimes the sweetest sound

And I'm taking on a feeling of running 'till they cut me down

'Till they cut me down