Let's sling our rain slicks over February's fantastic antlers   Sprouting from the foreheads of world famous necromancers   The winter's looming like a bloodthirsty bird of prey   And I guarantee by spring we'll either be world famous or goddamned dead   Guitar one fastens languid years to busty bones like dust and skin on a dull antique moon   Guitar two's touch keeps ruining lovers for other lovers   Like jokers concealed in trick decks in our laps   There's a train tumbling down torn paper tracks while weeds blossom from heartbeats that lack   Guitar three's dancing even though her song stopped playing ages and ages ago   She's at an empty dance club suspended in the middle of a rambling sentence   Guitar four says, "If you still believe in the grace of man,   Let me introduce you to greedy greedy greedy hands."   Let's sling our rain slicks over every single second   To the rapture dripping from clocks ticking all our misadventures   The winter left town with some seventeen-year-old waitress   And spring's laying in a pile of all the moments of our misadventures