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Jack Conte

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Jack Conte

Bloody Nose

Count your bones one by one.
Lie awake at night.
Underground,
boxed and glum,
left you there for rot.
All my fears
are overgrown, will someone burn this grove?
Those August nights...
They burn hot as hell, and you wake up sweating dreams.
It casts a spell.
It casts a spell.
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Welcome home! It's been a while.
Do you miss your head,
with your tattered clothes and your bloody nose?
Aren't you glad to be rid of the smell? Not at all?
Not at all!
I'll miss the fog through headlight wash
and bed and breath and touch...
but I'll brave it out! Yeah, I'll brave it out!
There's no use getting down.