Wild Things

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Low Level Clouds

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Beautiful in the way that only wild things can be
The garden had no luck; and the chain became corrupt
On the run, on the hunt
I lost my strength to find some
Innocent in the way that only tired things can be
And if that weren't enough, sharpened from the rough
You lost your way, winter came
And It's not the fall that hurts you
I'm your cleanest dirty shirt
You're sick like your secrets are
And In the morning when you're starting to curse
"Is this the wind or my ancestors?"
Loss found you out on your own
It takes too long to be warmed by the sun
For want of better life, or fear for worse inside
A come-on wire, a strong desire
Drink too much you'll loose me
I'm your cleanest dirty shirt
You're sick like your secrets are
And In the morning when you're starting to curse
"Is this the wind or my ancestors?"
Loss found you out on your own
It takes too long to be warmed by the sun

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