DESCRIPTION:
MYSSOURI: Rood Boy Blues

Symbols linger in the sutures where I've stitched our lives together
Your body figures in my future with a boa's tender tether
I've got a love to shelter us like a flesh and bone umbrella
A holy home, hewn in stone, sanctified and hallowed.
Well you know that deed would be deemed undue when they pry my cold dead hands off you.
Nimble fingers strolling velvet cheek, a tear appears and travels
well I've scoped the scape and I could not speak while brittle ties unravel
Well I've got a love like a carnal cope, a sanguine shrine a bony tope but I see
the ciphers in your eyes like hungry hempen collars.
Well you'll know you're free, you'll know we're through when they pry my cold, dead hands off you.

My hands can't set you free, well they cleave to thee, or they fall to atrophy.
My hands have two holes that sing, where I clenched the rings, where I wore the rood of love.

No agency no measure could lessen love's great torture
But with my hands upon this treasure
Death itself becomes conjecture.
Conjecture!

Copyright 2003 ®FurnaceSongs Record Co. ASCAP