when your limbs are broken
you prefer to set the bones yourself
your lips are tokens
you're giving away
my hands are folded
i'll never make my father's favorite shelf
the love is old + it whittles away
\ˈpä-kət-ˌnīf\
you pass the clean break
there's a letter somewhere being burned
you're not your handshakes
the stories you tell(the giants you fell)
and the cliff of the coast means you get to stay young
but the compasses are cold
so here's to the retake
take my love + smear it out thin
break the rocks + drink it all in
\ˈpä-kət-ˌnīf\
the woods go on + on
because folly is folly + then we're gone
the woods go on + on
because circles make circles + then we're gone
the trees go on + on
because circles make circles

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