Vocals: Dustin Monk
Goodby, little girl, you belong to the Midwest, hands buried in the snow.
I’m leaving at first light, hitchhiking my way to Charlotte, doing a jelly roll.
I know you won’t miss me or the carousels we rode or the way I made you safe.
You’ll be busy picking pinecones when I disappear completely like the tase of rain.
There’s no reaction to the loss: in forgetting, darling there never is.
There’s more distance between us than miles so I take a car or a bus or anything to get away.
Goodby, little girl, you belong to the Midwest, hands buried in the clouds.
The trees have gone white and ;the housed are grey and wet, blackbirds touch the ground.
Your eyes are the hands of a clock.
So we built a fire using a pem near the rising rocks that never seemd so real.
The fish were shining in the lake like a million dead stars.