No shadow   No stars   No moon   No care   November   It only believes   In a pile of dead leaves   And a moon   That's the color of bone         No prayers for November   To linger longer   Stick your spoon in the wall   We'll slaughter them all         November has tied me   To an old dead tree   Get word to April   To rescue me   November's cold chain         Made of wet boots and rain   And shiny black ravens   On chimney smoke lanes   November seems odd   You're my firing squad   November         With my hair slicked back   With carrion shellac   With the blood from a pheasant   And the bone from a hare         Tied to the branches   Of a roebuck stag   Left to wave in the timber   Like a buck shot flag         Go away you rainsnout   Go away, blow your brains out   November