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lyrics

Filtering out the mud-soaked flood. Oaked fat, the sound of the leaves bristle in your mind. You come back anytime. It's for you to find. Opening in the flat.... and the mount down the hill, beyond is a field, yours to fill. Dip your feet in the creek. Close your eyes and feel the guise. These leaves are spies. See her seek, but wind hears whispers, no need to speak. Your mouth is a beak and it beckons beyond. Sometimes the best things find the fond. Starch con, smoke pawns of yesterday. Peel the sleep from the soak of the creek. He's a creep!

credits

from Faucet, released February 8, 2014
Art: Jos Theriault

josillustrates.blogspot.ca

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