Testo Wood & Bone

Time to fold your ragged claws
Cindered charchoal were the brushfire was
Naked roots where wind has blown
Trails of blood on wood and stone

I am still not old
I'm younger than the booze I'm drinking
Still, there's something old in me Still I find myself sinking

Will you follow me, my dear
Through the fields, to the county fair
Where land and ocean meet
We could go there on our naked feet