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Where The Mines Are

Little Red Lung

Your face is too rough to hold onto by meyselfI feed you every time you look like someone elseWe're only making paper toys and make believeYou pick me out like twigs and splinters caught in your teeth
I wake up in a sweat and wonder what you thinkAm I nearly as interesting when I'm shoulder deepIn your lungs there's water boiling black nearly doneI hand you over to the grace and favor of your own escape
You're only facing down if you start overThe holes are there to show you where the mines areI've wreathed a canon ball unto your honorFor each and every possible disaster

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