Brown Bird - The Messenger

There are fleeting fits of reason between the sleeping and the drinks

When a million different sensory experiences blink

And its there within the momentary darkness you can breathe

And be a form without reflection or debris

There are bloody bouts of tenderness against the bonds of fear

Fixed in combat everlasting, vultures circled ever near

Now they’re placing bets deciding who will be the first to feast

But we can flood the battlefield with song and beer

Barrel-chested bankers buying billboards by the score

Placing all their eggs in baskets made of future futile wars

Now their children fight in microcosmic mirrors of their game

And the messenger will always be to blame

There are centuries of seasons turning white to green to brown

Cycling through each solar sequence, turning temperaments around

When this incessant spinning ceases making dizzy all our days

We’ll succumb to something stranger anyway

To some disaster of a disorienting brand new day

Barrel-chested bankers buying billboards by the score

Placing all their eggs in baskets made of future futile wars

Now their children fight in microcosmic mirrors of their game

And the messenger will always be to blame