Lyrics: Ides of January

I get the story in fragments as I lay in our bed
Of an infinite highway and a grey limousine
A fan is churning the air across the prow of your head
There’s a white-knuckled driver with a sweat back sheen

Your eyes are distant your fingers pull the pillow case
They swallow miles like fishes pass the mouth of a stream
I check the clock at eleven and your lips start to shake
They screech wheels in the quiet of Burden’s Landing

Beware the Ides of January
Hold your breath and close your eye
Still your chest and open wide

It’s hard to measure
Footsteps echo across the floor
We tried to do the right thing
Crawled across the division

So these are the halls of the devil’s choice
An antiseptic disposal, telescopic voice
My love you’re sleeping awake, you can hardly stand
I lay your fetal body beneath the churning fan