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Young English
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Old Wives Tale
Pornographic bones,
old wives tales,
rolling off roughest tongues,
and they say,
there's no saving that ones that you love,
just nails digging deep,
just trying to hold on,
so hold your closed,
keep them tight to your side,
and your head low,
we're all magazines,
open books, torn up, we burn when we glow.
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You buried all your faith,
below the soil and the rain,
I felt you trembling.
You said, 'I am original sin,
picked that tree dry and wore my luck thin',
in the pouring rain,
where there's hope there's faith that I can mend my mistakes.
Spin your martyr's web.
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