An easy swing had it's time shouldered   Slow bending axe.   Now it's a photo framed.   The swing hasn't had it.      And here we are rebuilding roads   Right by roosting towns.   It's just like the love   The one that's never been enough.      So I'm counting on your fingers   Cause you've reattached the twitch   And if you want opinion,   I will die along the ditches.      And every summer is a hot token   To the cold, cold take of lust.   And every autumn singes   With the business of sadness.      Our friend had it wrong.   We sing "honey heaven burns".   Another curve in the counting:   His head is earning more.      So I'm counting on your fingers   Cause you've reattached the twitch   And if you want opinion,   I will die along the ditches.