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 their 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   A 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 murders 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.