Rose Hips

The streets are like the ocean, that the water fills their brims
And your head is just the same thing if it fills a hat with tears
With the reasons we get and the gifts we accept,
And the promise we request the promise isn't half

Of something to wrestle with
Golden gardens and pussing lips
Rose hips and bull whips

And there ain't no one to talk to, and you can't talk at all
As you sleeping as a baby, as you see you lurking somebody
On the cliff or on the edge or on the way into the hedge
It's a murky time to rest and times crooked to attest
The supple cup of blood or an undone vein of mud

Well I'll be one to take your promise to the beach or by the way
Of the dreams that pass before us, or the murderous journey towards
Some ideal that's innovation for sleeping on a stone
Or being in your death bed, or seeing that your blood rests
On the bottom of the canyon in the morning