Empty pocket, take hold of the lamb's ear
Between your thumb and finger, all piled and threadbare
I'll lead you down from the hip towards the falls
Azalea blushed, turned red so slow
We couldn't remember if it was ever pink at all

Canary's throat is pink and ribbed with sailor's songs
Remembrances and cursing the black hole
Poor son of a *****, couldn't even fly for the mist
Can't remember the ocean but felt the pitch and roll in her chest

This path, it tightens off, I hear the ocean in it's depths
Past the flow stone and the icicle fence
****sure sailor, you're polished gypsum
And warm milk shore leave, abandon
And lashes heavy from the mist, I'll lead you down

Canary's song caught in her throat
Closed off sharp and crystalline
Her songs still hang in the tracery
Poor son of a *****, couldn't even fly for the mist
Color leached out so slow she couldn't remember
If she was ever pink at all