He writes these words on your skin
You turn your head from him
There's always things
That can't be said
But Joseph holds
The key to them
He lays these songs on your tongue
But its time to pay
For what you've done
Your scattered holes in unpaid debts
Are all cataloged
In Joseph's head
Your brother is drunk here at your side
Waiting for your breath of life
But how can you sing what you know to be fake
You'll never wash Joseph's mouth of your face
First scratch into this dusty wooden stage
A History of your best and wasted days
There is no place to run from Joseph's truth
His hands are on your throat, but feeding you
May the river tie a rope around your feet
And drag your mind and body out to sea
Then thank the sky with colors, down from below
The universal mud where Joseph grows

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