Holiday Farm
It's so close, but you hear nothing
No one's on the street
You're trying not to breathe
Opaque bags carry their treasures
Ketchup sandwich
Honey, try and get some sleep
Yes, in the car, yes Mummy's crying
Canvas air, calico
Sky etched on the sun
Every hour looks the same
It turns cold, the homeless
Journey west in whispers
Nothing left for us to save
Jeremiah in the cistern
Weeps before the flames
We can't stop ourselves
Little Round Top fell
Won cause, grey-coated Copeland men prevail
Fire at will
The electric sound of catching limbs
A Peterbilt's chains on gravel
Circle wagons, settler ignorance, so predictable
Mourn the beauty that we raped
Carbon monoxide burns our paper world away
That's why the dreamland never wakes
And the cough's just the beginning
Look at us watching as the fuse burns out of frame
It turns cold, anticipation of the hour
Where there is nothing left to save
Jeremiad drowned in flame
We can't stop ourselves
Little Round Top fell
Won cause, grey-coated Copeland men prevail
Fire at will
The electric sound of catching limbs
A Peterbilt's chains on gravel
Level 1, 2, 3
Level 1, 2, 3, 4
This life of arctic sounds is melting, melting down
No one's on the street
You're trying not to breathe
Opaque bags carry their treasures
Ketchup sandwich
Honey, try and get some sleep
Yes, in the car, yes Mummy's crying
Canvas air, calico
Sky etched on the sun
Every hour looks the same
It turns cold, the homeless
Journey west in whispers
Nothing left for us to save
Jeremiah in the cistern
Weeps before the flames
We can't stop ourselves
Little Round Top fell
Won cause, grey-coated Copeland men prevail
Fire at will
The electric sound of catching limbs
A Peterbilt's chains on gravel
Circle wagons, settler ignorance, so predictable
Mourn the beauty that we raped
Carbon monoxide burns our paper world away
That's why the dreamland never wakes
And the cough's just the beginning
Look at us watching as the fuse burns out of frame
It turns cold, anticipation of the hour
Where there is nothing left to save
Jeremiad drowned in flame
We can't stop ourselves
Little Round Top fell
Won cause, grey-coated Copeland men prevail
Fire at will
The electric sound of catching limbs
A Peterbilt's chains on gravel
Level 1, 2, 3
Level 1, 2, 3, 4
This life of arctic sounds is melting, melting down
Credits
Writer(s): John Giacoppe
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