The Drowning Dream

Well our dogs get along, but have you noticed how easy
Evil dialogues of ours come out of wanting
For so long, an easy laughter, to feel guilty for some -

Throw us in the oven where the angels fly
They still need to eat
She's clean, she keeps a clean house, she can cook alright
But I no longer have meat

In the middle of the field at the height of the eclipse
When all that we could see were the fiery whips
Of that hot-headed god, hot-headed god and wild
Perpetually running from his wife and child

- I was born in the bottom of a boat
Of glass between the sea and me
Upward from the floor they'd float
Bodies from the drowning dream

What do you make in the furnace of your chest?
The same as she makes in the locket of her breast
Here's where the buds in the coal-chocked tomb go hard
Clear and deadly and never ever bloom

- There were fifty-four people in the back of a truck
They were only sleeping
When we come to pick them up
Safe within our keeping

Sixty-eight bullets for my wife and I
They will never be satisfied
Strength and purpose fringed by fire
Fire I was born in the bottom of a boat
Of glass between the sea and me
Upward from the floor they'd float
Bodies from the drowning dream