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Oceanographer
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Spilling Blood
I stretched the strings across my dad's guitar,
shuffled through the charts, and picked a place to start.
I mouthed the words a wounded man might sing,
some foolish April fling, a shoulder to its sling.
Holding out for something better is all I've known.
So when the monsters come to get her just let me know,
'Let her go.'
I'm fumbling for a light switch in the black.
My fingers trace the wall to figure where they're at.
There's a fence I need to mend but I can't find.
A ghost I need to slay: The lover in my mind.
Holding out for something better is all I've known.
So when the monsters come to get her, just let me know,
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'Let her go.'
The words it seems are wrenched from tightened teeth,
some ugly underneath,
dredged up from the deep.
If to spill your heart is spilling blood then I'm
putting up a fight:
I'm spilling blood this time.
Holding out for something better is all I've known.
So when the monsters come to get her, just let me know.
Holding out for something better is all I've known.
So when the monsters come to get her, just let me know
to let her go.
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