Gnashville

Sometimes I claim to know a guy but I can't tell you what his hands look like
 Guess who's coming to dinner
 Gnashville, never in the night
 Never in the night when the knot grows tighter than fingers can untie
 And all the last half damned rivers have gone dry
 Does the cock crow thrice until someone is denied
 Or the morning comes
 You wonder if you ever get your shit together
 What is that a leather sofa and a feather in an old fur hat
 Fake tat lost in a box of Cracker Jacks
 Practicing your plane wreck face in a first class lav
 That's what the ghost of someone's dad might say
 When they come calling, I won't go calm
 There is no palm or divine mitt
 With which to hold one's pit
 Or seperate the human race from its enviroment
 No scattered ashes loosely gather asking where the fire went
 We're left with half truth psalms
 In an indecypherable scrawl in some vague extinct language
 Ancient ink dull, almost vanished on some old brittle scroll
 That's what the ghost of someone's dad might say